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NATURE 


ADDRESSES,  AND  LECTURES 


BY 


RALPH  WALDO    EMERSON 


BOSTON  AND    NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 

<Cfe  tttoersftr  l^rese,  <CambriD0e 


COPTEIGHT,  1855  AND  1876, 

BY  PHILLIPS,  SAMPSON  &  Co.,  AND  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

COPYRIGHT,  1883, 
BY  EDWARD  W.  EMERSON. 


AU  rights  reserved. 


<£ 


0 


R 


CONTENTS. 


1     .1 

/'- 


PAGE 

INTRODUCTION   .        . 11 

NATURE .15 

THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR.  An  Oration  before  the  Phi 
Beta  Kappa  Society,  at  Cambridge,  August  81,  1837  .  69 

AN  ADDRESS  to  the  Senior  Class  in  Divinity  College, 

Cambridge,  July  15,  1838         .         .         .         .       ^ 99_ 

LITERARY  ETHICS.  An  Address  to  the  Literary  Societies 
in  Dartmouth  College,  July  24,  1838  .  .  .127 

THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE.  An  Address  to  the  Society 
of  the  Adelphi,  in  Waterville  College,  Me.,  August  11, 
1841 155 

MAN  THE  REFORMER.  A  Lecture  read  before  the 
Mechanics'  Apprentices'  Library  Association,  Boston, 
January  25,  1841 183 

LECTURE  ON  THE  TIMES.  Read  in  the  Masonic  Temple, 
Boston,  December  2,  1841 209 

THE  CONSERVATIVE.  A  Lecture  read  in  the  Masonic 
Temple,  Boston,  December  9,  1841  .  .  .  .  237 

THE  TRANSCENDENTALISM  A  Lecture  read  in  the 
Masonic  Temple,  Boston,  January,  1842  .  .  .  263 

THE  YOUNG  AMERICAN.  A  Lecture  read  to  the 
Mercantile  Library  Association,  in  Boston,  February 
7,  1844 289 


NATURE,  ADDRESSES,  AND 
LECTURES. 


NATURE. 


A  SUBTLE  chain  of  countless  rings 
The  next  unto  the  farthest  hrings  ; 
The  eye  reads  omens  where  it  goes, 
And  speaks  all  languages  the  rose ; 
And,   striving  to  be  man,  the  worm 
Mounts  through  all  the  spires  of  form. 


INTEODUCTION. 


OUR  age  is  retrospective.  It  builds  the  sepulchres  of 
the  fathers.  It  -writes  biographies,  histories,  and  criti 
cism.  The  foregoing  generations  beheld  God  and  nature 
face  to  face ;  we,  through  their  eyes.  Why  should  not 
we  also  enjoy  an  original  relation  to  the  universe  ?  Why 
should  not  we  have  a  poetry  and  philosophy  of  insight, 
and  not  of  tradition,  and  a  religion  by  revelation  to  us, 
and  not  the  history  of  theirs  ?  Embosomed  for  a  season 
in  nature,  whose  floods  of  life  stream  around  and  through 
us,  and  invite  us  by  the  powers  they  supply,  to  action 
proportioned  to  nature,  why  should  we  grope  among  the 
dry  bones  of  the  past,  or  put  the  living  generation  into 
masquerade  out  of  its  faded  wardrobe  ?  The  sun  shines 
to-day  also.  There  is  more  wool  and  flax  in  the  fields. 
There  are  new  lands,  new  men,  new  thoughts.  Let  us 
demand  our  own  works  and  laws  and  worship. 

Undoubtedly  we  have  no  questions  to  ask  which  are 
unanswerable.  We  must  trust  the  perfection  of  the  cre 
ation  so  far,  as  to  believe  that  whatever  curiosity  the 
order  of  things  has  awakened  in  our  minds,  the  order  of 
things  can  satisfy.  Every  man's  condition  is  a  solution 


12  INTRODUCTION. 

in  hieroglyphic  to  those  inquiries  he  would  put.  He  acts 
it  as  life,  before  he  apprehends  it  as  truth.  In  like  man 
ner,  nature  is  already,  in  its  forms  and  tendencies,  de 
scribing  its  own  design.  Let  us  interrogate  the  great 
apparition,  that  shines  so  peacefully  around  us.  Let  us 
inquire,  to  what  end  is  nature  ? 

All  science  has  one  aim,  namely,  to  find  a  theory  of 
nature.  We  have  theories  of  races  and  of  functions,  but 
scarcely  yet  a  remote  approach  to  an  idea  of  creation. 
We  are  now  so  far  from  the  road  to  truth,  that  religious 
teachers  dispute  and  hate  each  other,  and  speculative 
men  are  esteemed  unsound  and  frivolous.  But  to  a 
sound  judgment,  the  most  abstract  truth  is  the  most 
practical.  Whenever  a  true  theory  appears,  it  will  be  its 
own  evidence.  Its  test  is,  that  it  will  explain  all  phe 
nomena.  Now  many  are  thought  not  only  unexplained 
"but  inexplicable;  as  language,  sleep,  madness,  dreams, 
beasts,  sex. 

Philosophically  considered,  the  universe  is  composed 
of  Nature  and  the  Soul.  Strictly  speaking,  therefore, 
all  that  is  separate  from  us,  all  which  Philosophy  distin 
guishes  as  the  NOT  ME,  that  is,  both  nature  and  art,  all 
other  men  and  my  own  body,  must  be  ranked  under  this 
name,  NATURE.  In  enumerating  the  values  of  nature 
and  casting  up  their  sum,  I  shall  use  the  word  in  both 
senses,  —  in  its  common  and  in  its  philosophical  import. 
In  inquiries  so  general  as  our  present  one,  the  inaccu 
racy  is  not  material ;  no  confusion  of  thought  need  occur. 
Nature,  in  the  common  sense,  refers  to  essences  un 
changed  by  man  ;  space,  the  air,  the  river,  the  leaf.  Art 
is  applied  to  the  mixture  of  his  will  with  the  same  things, 


INTRODUCTION.  13 


as  in  a  house,  a  canal,  a  statue,  a  picture.  But  his  oper 
ations  taken  together  are  so  insignificant,  a  little  chip 
ping,  baking,  patching,  and  washing,  that  in  an  impres 
sion  so  grand  as  that  of  the  world  on  the  human  mind, 
they  do  not  vary  the  result. 


NATURE. 


CHAPTER    I. 

To  go  into  solitude,  a  man  needs  to  retire  as  much 
from  his  chamber  as  from  society.     I  am  not  solitary 
whilst  I  read  and  write,  though  nobody  is  with  me.     But 
if  a  man  would  be  alone,  let  him  look  at  the  stars.     The 
rays  that  come  from  those  heavenly  worlds  will  separate 
between  him  and  what  he  touches.     One  might  think  the  ^V 
atmosphere  was  made  transparent  with  this  design,  to 
give  man,  in  the  heavenly  bodies,  the  perpetual  presence^) 
of  the  sublime.     Seen  in  the  streets  of  cities,  how  great 
they  are!     If  the  stars  should  appear  one  night 
thousand  years,  how  would  men  believe  and  adore 

preserve  for  many  generations  the  remembn       __ 

city  of  God  which  had  been  shown  J/But  every  night 
come  out  these  envoys  of  beauty,  ana  light  the  universe 
with  their  admonishing  smile. 

The  stars  awaken  a  certain  reverence,  because  though 
always  present,  they  are  inaccessible  ;  but  all  natural  ob 
jects  make  a  kindred  impression,  when  the  mind  is  open 
to  their  influence.  Nature  never  wears  a  mean  appear- 
ance..  Neither  does  the  wisest  man  extort  her  secret, 
and  lose  his  curiosity  by  finding  out  all  her  perfection. 


1C  NATUEE. 

f 

Nature  never  became  a  toy  to  a  wise  spirit.  The  flow 
ers,  the  animals,  the  mountains,  reflected  the  wisdom  of 
his  best  hour,  as  much  as  they  had  delighted  the  sim- 

icity  of  his  childhood. 

When  we  speak  of  nature  in  this  manner,  we  have  a 
distinct  but  most  poetical  sense  in  the  mind.  We  mean 
the  integrity  of  impression  made  by  manifold  natural 
objects.  It  is  this  which  distinguishes  the  stick  of  tim 
ber  of  the  wood-cutter,  from  the  tree  of  the  poet.  The 
charming  landscape  which  I  saw  this  morning  is  indu 
bitably  made  up  of  some  twenty  or  thirty  farms.  Miller 
owns  this  field,  Locke  that,  and  Manning  the  woodland 
beyond.  But  none  of  them  owns  the  landscape.  There 
is  a  property  in  the  horizon  which  no  man  has  but  he 
whose  eye  can  integrate  all  the  parts,  that  is,  the  poet. 
This  is  the  best  part  of  these  men's  farms,  yet  to  this 
their  warranty-deeds  give  no  title. 

To  speak  truly,  few  adult  persons  can  see  nature. 
Most  persons  do  not  see  the  sun.  At  least  they  have 
a  very  superficial  seeing.  The  sun  illuminates  only  the 
eye  of  the  man,  but  shines  into  the  eye  and  the  heart  of 
the  child.  The  lover  of  nature  is  he  whose  inward  and\ 
outward  senses  are  still  truly  adjusted  to  each  other  J 
who  has  retained  the  spirit  of  infancy  even  into  the  era 
of  manhood.  His  intercourse  with  heaven  and  earth 
becomes  part  of  his  daily  food.  In  the  presence  of  na 
ture,  a  wild  delight  runs  through  the  man,  in  spite  of 
real  sorrows.  Nature  says,  —  he  is  my  creature,  anal 
maugre  all  his  impertinent  griefs,  he  shall  be  glad  withj 
me.  Not  the  sun  or  the  summer  alone,  but  every  hour 
and  season  yields  its  tribute  of  delight ;  for  every  hour 


NATURE.  17 

and  change  corresponds  to  and  authorizes  a  different 
state  of  the  mind,  from  breathless  noon  to  grimmest  mid 
night.     Nature  is  a  setting  that  fits  equally  well  a  comic? 
or  a  mourning  piece.     In  good  health,  the  air  is  a  cofctial 
of  incredible  virtue.     Crossing  a  bare  common,  in  snow- 
puddles,  at  twilight,  under  a  clouded  sky,  without  having 
in  my  thoughts  any  occurrence  of  special  good  fortune, 
I  have  enjoyed  a  perfect  exhilaration.     I  am  glad  to  the 
brink  of  fear.     In  the  woods,  too,  a  man  casts  off  his 
years,  as  the  snake  his  slough,  and  at  what  period  soever 
of  life,  is  always  a  child.     In  the  woods,  is  perpetual 
youth.     Within  these  plantations  of  God,  a  decorum  and 
sanctity  reign,  a  perennial  festival  is  dressed,  and  the 
guest  sees  not  how  he  should  tire  of  them  in  a  thousand 
years.     In  the  woods,  we  return  to  reason  and  faith. 
There  I  feel  that  nothing  can  befall  me  in  life,  —  no  dis 
grace,  no  calamity  (leaving  me  my  eyes),  which  nature 
cannot  repair.     Standing  on  the  bare  ground,  —  my  head 
bathed  by  the  blithe  air,  and  uplifted  into  infinite  space, 
—  all  mean  egotism  vanishes.     I  become  a  transparent  ^| 
eyeball ;  1  am  nothing ;  I  see  all ;  the  currents  of  the  \ 
Universal  Being  circulate  through  me;  I  am  part  or   I 
particle  of  God.     The  name  of  the  nearest  friend  sounds^ 
then  foreign  and  accidental :  to  be  brothers,  to  be  ac 
quaintances,  —  master  or  servant,  is  then  a  trifle  and^a 

disturbance.     I  am  the  lover  of  uncontained  and  immor-l 

•i_^ 

taLJp^ty^  In  the  wilderness,  I  find  something  more 
dear  and  connate  than  in  streets  or  villages.  In  the" 
tranquil  landscape,  and  especially  in  the  distant  line  of 
the  horizon,  man  beholds  somewhat  as  beautiful  as  his 
own  nature. 


18  COMMODITY. 

The  greatest  delight  which  the  fields  and  woods  minis 
ter,  is  the  suggestion  of  an  occult  relation  between  man 
\^  and  the  vegetable.  I  am  not  alone  and  unacknowledged. 
They  nod  to  me,  and  I  to  them.  The  waving  of  the 
boughs  in  the  storm  is  new  to  me,  and  old.  It  takes  me 
by  surprise,  and  yet  is  not  unknown.  Its  effect  is  like 
that  of  a  higher  thought  or  a  better  emotion  coming 
over  me,  when  I  deemed  I  was  thinking  justly  or  doing 
right. 

Yet  it  is  certain  that  the  power  to  produce  this  delight 
does  not  reside  in  nature,  but  in  man,  or  in  a  harmony  of 
both.  It  is  necessary  to  use  these  pleasures  with  great 
temperance.  For,  nature  is  not  always  tricked  in  holi 
day  attire,  but  the  same  scene  which  yesterday  breathed 
perfume  and  glittered  as  for  the  frolic  of  the  nymphs, 
is  overspread  with  melancholy  to-day.  Nature  always 
wears  the  colors  of  the  spirit.  To  a  man  laboring  under 
calamity,  the  heat  of  his  own  fire  hath  sadness  in  it. 
Then,  there  is  a  kind  of  contempt  of  the  landscape  felt 
by  him  who  has  just  lost  by  death  a  dear  friend.  The 
sky  is  less  grand  as  it  shuts  down  over  less  worth  in  the 
population. 

CHAPTER    II. 

COMMODITY. 

WHOEVER  considers  the  final  cause  of  the  world,  will 
discern  a  multitude  of  uses  that  enter  as  parts  into  that 
result.  They  all  admit  of  being  thrown  into  one  of  the 
following  classes :  Commodity;  Beauty;  Language;  and 
Discipline. 


COMMODITY.  19 

f      under  the  general  name  of  Commodity,  I  rank  all 
X  those  advantages  which  our  senses  owe  to  nature.     This, 
I    of  course,  is  a  benefit  which  is  temporary  and  mediate, 
I    not  ultimate,  like  its  service  to  the  soul.     Yet  although 
I    low,  it  is  perfect  in  its  kind,  and  is  the  only  use  of  nature 
all  men  apprehend.     The  misery  of  man  appears 
like  childish  petulance,  when  we  explore  the  steady  and 
prodigal  provision  that  has  been  made  for  his   support 
and  delight  on  this  green  ball  which  floats  him  through 
the  heavens.     What  angels  invented  these  splendid  orna 
ments,  these  rich  conveniences,  this  ocean  of  air  above, 
this  ocean  of  water  beneath,  this  firmament  of  earth  be 
tween  ?  this  zodiac  of  lights,  this  tent  of  dropping  clouds, 
this  striped  coat  of  climates,  this  fourfold  year  ?     Beasts, 
fire,  water,  stones,  and  corn  serve  him.     The  field  is  at 
once  his  floor,  his  work -yard,  his  play -ground,  his  garden, 
and  his  bed. 

"  More  servants  wait  on  man 
_    _  Than  he  '11  take  notice  of." 

Nature,  in  its  ministry  to  man,  is  not  only  the  mate 
rial,  but  is  also  the  process  and  the  result.  All  the  parts 
incessantly  work  into  eacli  other's  hands  for  the  profit  of 
man.  The  wind  sows  the  seed ;  the  sun  evaporates  the 
sea ;  the  wind  blows  the  vapor  to  the  field ;  the  ice,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  planet,  condenses  rain  on  this  ;  the 
rain  feeds  the  plant;  the  plant  feeds  the  animal;  and 
thus  the  endless  circulations  of  the  divine  charity  nourish 
man. 

The  useful  arts  are  reproductions  or  new  combinations 
the  wit  of  man,  of  the  same  natural  benefactors.     He 
no  longer  waits  for  favoring  gales,  but  by  means  of 


ma 

Utf 


20  BEAUTY. 

steam,  he  realizes  the  fable  of  JEolus's  bag,  and  carries 
the  two-and-thirty  winds  in  the  boiler  of  his  boat.  To 
diminish  friction,  he  paves  the  road  with  iron  bars,  and, 
mounting  a  coach  with  a  ship-load  of  men,  animals,  and 
merchandise  behind  him,  he  darts  through  the  country 
from  town  to  town,  like  an  eagle  or  a  swallow  through 
the  air.  By  the  aggregate  of  these  aids,  how  is  the  face 
of  the  world  changed,  from  the  era  of  Noah  to  that  of 
Napoleon  !  The  private  poor  man  hath  cities,  ships, 
canals,  bridges,  built  for  him.  He  goes  to  the  post- 
office,  and  the  human  race  run  on  his  errands ;  to  the 
book-shop,  and  the  human  race  read  and  write  of  all  that 
happens,  for  him ;  to  the  court-house,  and  nations  repair 
his  wrongs.  Hs  sets  his  house  upon  the  road,  and  the 
human  race  go  forth  every  morning,  and  shovel  out  the 
snow,  and  cut  a  path  for  him. 

But  there  is  no  need  of  specifying  particulars  in  this 
class  of  uses.  The  catalogue  is  endless,  and  the  examples 
so  obvious,  that  I  shall  leave  them  to  the  reader's  reflec 
tion,  with  the  general  remark,  that  this  mercenary  benefit 
is  one  which  has  respect  to  a  further  good.  A  man  is 
fed,  not  that  he  may  be  fed,  but  that  he  may  work. 


CHAPTER    III. 

BEAUTY. 

A  NOBLEU  want  of  man  is  served  by  nature,  namely, 
L—the  love  of  Beauty. 

The  ancient  Greeks  called  the  world  KOCTUOS,  beauty. 
Such  is  the  constitution  of  all  things,  or  such  the  plastic 


BEAUTY.  21 

power  of  thejiiima.^  pyp^  lhat  the  primary  forms,  as  the 
fsky,  the  mountain,  the  tree,  the  animal,  give  us  a  delight 
\n  aridr  for  themselves ;  a  pleasure  arising  from  outline, 
color,  motion,  and  grouping.  This  seems  partly  owing 
to  the  eye  itself.  The  eye  is  the  best  of  artists.  By  the 
mutual  action  of  its  structure  and  of  the  laws  of  light, 
perspective  is  produced,  which  integrates  every  mass  of 
objects,  of  what  character  soever,  into  a  well-colored  and 
shaded  globe,  so  that  where  the  particular  objects  are 
mean  and  unaffecting,  the  landscape  which  they  compose 
is  round  and  symmetrical.  And  as  the  eye  is  the  best 
composer,  so  light  is  the  first  of  painters.  There  is  no 
object  so  foul  that  intense  light  will  not  make  beautiful. 
And  the  stimulus  it  affords  to  the  sense,  and  a  sort  of 
infinitude  which  it  hath,  like  space  and  time,  make  all 
matter  gay.  Even  the  corpse  has  its  own  beauty.  But 
besides  this  general  grace  diffused  over  nature,  almost 
all  the  individual  forms  are  agreeable  to  the  eye,  as  is 
proved  by  our  endless  imitations  of  some  of  them,  as  the 
acorn,  the  grape,  the  pine-cone,  the  wheat-ear,  the  egg, 
the  wings  and  forms  of  most  birds,  the  lion's  claw,  the 
serpent,  the  butterfly,  sea-shells,  flames,  clouds,  buds, 
leaves,  and  the  forms  of  many  trees,  as  the  palm. 

Eor  better  consideration,  we  may  distribute  the  aspects 
of  Beauty  in  a  threefold  manner. 

r**^  1.  First,  the  simple  perception  of  natural  forms  is  a 
1  delight.     The  influence  of  the  forms  and  actions  in  na- 

•"•*^^»"*» 

ture  is  so  needful  to  man,  that,  in  its  lowest  functions,  it 

seems  to  lie  on  the  confines  of  commodity  and  beauty. 

pUb  the  body  and  mind  which  have  been  cramped  by  nox- 

\  ious  work  or  company,  nature  is  medicinal  and  restores 

u— 


2:2  BEAUTY. 

their  tone.  The  tradesman,  the  attorney,  comes  out  of 
the  din  and  craft  of  the  street,  and  sees  the  sky  and  the 
\___wjx)ds,  and  is  a  man  again.  In  their  eternal  calm,  he 
finds  himself.  The  health  of  the  eye  seems  to  demand  a 
horizon.  We  are  never  tired,  so  long  as  we  can  see  far 
enough. 

But  in  other  hours,  Nature  satisfies  by  its  loveliness, 
and  without  any  mixture  of  corporeal  benefit.  I  see  the 
spectacle  of  morning  from  the  hill-top  over  against  my 
house,  from  daybreak  to  sunrise,  with  emotions  which  an 
angel -might  share.  The  long  slender  bars  of  cloud  float 
like  fishes  in  the  sea  of  crimson  light.  Prom  the  earth, 
as  a  shore,  I  look  out  into  that  silent  sea.  I  seem  to 
partake  its  rapid  transformations  :  the  active  enchant 
ment  reaches  my  dust,  and  I  dilate  and  conspire  with 
the  morning  wind.  How  does  Nature  deify  us  with  a 
few  and  cheap  elements!  Give  me  health  and  a  day, 
and  I  will  make  the  pomp  of  emperors  ridiculous.  The 
dawn  is  my  Assyria ;  the  sunset  and  moonrise  my 
Paphos,  and  unimaginable  realms  of  faerie  ;  broad  noon 
shall  be  my  England  of  the  senses  and  the  understand 
ing  ;  the  night  shall  be  my  Germany  of  mystic  philoso 
phy  and  dreams. 

Not  less  excellent,  except  for  our  less  susceptibility  in 
the  afternoon,  was  the  charm,  last  evening,  of  a  January 
sunset.  The  western  clouds  divided  and  subdivided 
themselves  into  pink  flakes  modulated  with  tints  of  un 
speakable  softness ;  and  the  air  had  so  much  life  and 
sweetness,  that  it  was  a  pain  to  come  within  doors. 
What  was  it  that  nature  would  say  ?  Was  there  no 
meaning  in  the  live  repose  of  the  valley  behind  the  mill, 


BEAUTY.  23 

and  which  Homer  or  Shakspeare  could  not  re-form  for 
me  in  words  ?  The  leafless  trees  become  spires  of  flame 
in  the  sunset,  with  the  blue  east  for  their  background, 
and  the  stars  of  the  dead  calices  of  flowers,  and  every 
withered  stem  and  stubble  rimed  with  frost,  contribute 
something  to  the  mute  music. 

The  inhabitants  of  cities  suppose  that  the  country  land 
scape  is  pleasant  only  half  the  year.  I  please  myself 
with  the  graces  of  the  winter  scenery,  and  believe  that 
we  are  as  much  touched  by  it  as  by  the  genial  influences 
of  summer.  To  the  attentive  eye,  each  moment  of  the 
year  has  its  own  beauty,  and  in  the  same  field,  it  beholds, 
every  hour,  a  picture  which  was  never  seen  before,  and 
which  shall  never  be  seen  again.  The  heavens  change 
every  moment,  and  reflect  their  glory  or  gloom  on  the 
plains  beneath.  The  state  of  the  crop  in  the  surrounding 
farms  alters  the  expression  of  the  earth  from  week  to 
week.  The  succession  of  native  plants  in  the  pastures 
and  roadsides,  which  makes  the  silent  clock  by  which 
time  tells  the  summer  hours,  will  make  even  the  divisions 
of  the  day  sensible  to  a  keen  observer.  The  tribes  of 
birds  and  insects,  like  the  plants  punctual  to  their  time, 
follow  each  other,  and  the  year  has  room  for  all.  By 
water-courses,  the  variety  is  greater.  In  July,  the  blue 
pontederia  or  pickerel-weed  blooms  in  large  beds  in  the 
shallow  parts  of  our  pleasant  river,  and  swarms  with 
yellow  butterflies  in  continual  motion.  Art  cannot  rival 
this  pomp  of  purple  and  gold.  Indeed,  the  river  is  a 
perpetual  gala,  and  boasts  each  month  a  new  ornament. 

But  this  beauty  of  Nature  which  is  seen  and  felt  as 
beauty,  is  the  least  part.  The  shows  of  day,  the  dewy 


24  BEAUTY. 

morning,  the  rainbow,  mountains,  orchards  in  blossom, 
stars,  moonlight,  shadows  in  still  water,  and  the  like,  if 
too  eagerly  hunted,  become  shows  merely,  and  mock  us 
with  their  unreality.  Go  out  of  the  house  to  see  the 
moon,  and  't  is  mere  tinsel ;  it  will  not  please  as  when 
its  light  shines  upon  your  necessary  journey.  The 
beauty  that  shimmers  in  the  yellow  afternoons  of  Octo 
ber,  —  who  ever  could  clutch  it  ?  Go  forth  to  find  it, 
and  it  is  gone :  't  is  only  a  mirage  as  you  look  from  the 
wjmdows  of  diligence. 

2.  The  presence  of  a  higher,  namely,  of  the  spiritual 
element  is  essential  to  its  perfection.  The  high  and  di 
vine  beauty  which  can  be  loved  without  effeminacy,  is 
that  which  is  found  in  combination  with  the  human  will. 
Beauty  is  the  mark  God  sets  upon  virtue.  Every  natural 
action  is  graceful.  Every  heroic  act  is  also  decent,  and 
causes  the  place  and  the  bystanders  to  shine.  We  are 
taught  by  great  actions  that  the  universe  is  the  property 
of  every  individual  in  it.  Every  rational  creature  has  all  ) 
nature  for  his  dowry  and  estate.  It  is  his,  if  he  willy 
He  may  divest  himself  of  it ;  he  may  creep  into  a  corner, 
and  abdicate  his  kingdom,  as  most  men  do,  but  he  is 
entitled  to  the  world  by  his  constitution.  In  proportion 
to  the  energy  of  his  thought  and  will,  he  takes  up  the 
world  into  himself.  "All  those  things  for  which  men 
plough,  build,  or  sail,  obey  virtue,"  said  Sallust.  "The 
winds  and  waves,"  said  Gibbon,  "  are  always  on  the  side 
of  the  ablest  navigators."  So  are  the  sun  and  moon  and 
all  the  stars  of  heaven.  When  a  noble  act  is  done,  — 
perchance  in  a  scene  of  great  natural  beauty;  when 
Leonidas  and  his  three  hundred  martyrs  consume  one 


BEAUTY.  25 

day  in  dying,  and  the  sun  and  moon  come  each  and  look 
at  them  once  in  the  steep  defile  of  Thermopylae ;  when 
Arnold  Winkelried,  in  the  high  Alps,  under  the  shadow 
of  the  avalanche,  gathers  in  his  side  a  sheaf  of  Austrian 
spears  to  break  the  line  for  his  comrades  ;  are  not  these 
heroes  entitled  to  add  the  beauty  of  the  scene  to  the 
beauty  of  the  deed  ?  When  the  bark  of  Columbus  nears 
the  shore  of  America ;  —  before  it,  the  beach  lined  with 
savages,  fleeing  out  of  all  their  huts  of  cane ;  the  sea 
behind ;  and  the  purple  mountains  of  the  Indian  Archi 
pelago  around,  can  we  separate  the  man  from  the  living 
picture  ?  Does  not  the  New  World  clothe  his  form  wj, 
her  palm-groves  and  savannahs  as  fit  drapery  ?  Ever 
does  natural  beauty  steal  in  like  air,  and  envelop  great 
actions.  When  Sir  Harry  Vane  was  dragged  up  CEe 
Tower-hill,  sitting  on  a  sled  to  suffer  death,  as  the  cham 
pion  of  the  English  laws,  one  of  the  multitude  cried  out 
to  him,  "  You  never  sat  on  so  glorious  a  seat."  Charles 
II.,  to  intimidate  the  citizens  of  London,  caused  the 
patriot  Lord  Russell  to  be  drawn  in  an  open  coach, 
through  the  principal  streets  of  the  city,  on  his  way  to 
the  scaffold.  "But,"  his  biographer  says,  "the  multi 
tude  imagined  they  saw  liberty  and  virtue  sitting  by  his 
side."  In  private  places,  among  sordid  objects,  an  act 
of  truth  or  heroism  seems  at  once  to  draw  to  itself  the 
sky  as  its  temple,  the  sun  as  its  candle.  Nature  stretch- 
etlibut  her  arms  to  embrace  map,  only  let  his  thoughts 
Jie^of  equal  greatness.  Willingly  does  she  follow  his 
steps  with  the  rose  and  the  violet,  and  bend  her  lines  of 
grandeur  and  grace  to  the  decoration  of  her  darling 
child.  Only  let  his  thoughts  be  of  equal  scope,  and 
2 


26  BEAUTY. 

the  frame  will  suit  the  picture.  A  virtuous  man  is  in 
unison  with  her  works,  and  makes  the  central  figure  of 
the  visible  sphere.  Homer,  Pindar,  Socrates,  Phocion, 
associate  themselves  fitly  in  our  memory  with  the  geog 
raphy  and  climate  of  Greece.  The  visible  heavens  and 
earth  sympathize  with  Jesus.  And  in  common  life,  who 
soever  has  seen  a  person  of  powerful  character  and 
happy  genius  will  have  remarked  how  easily  he  took  all 
things  along  with  him,  —  the  persons,  the  opinions,  and 
the  day,  and  nature  became  ancillary  to  a  man. 

3.  There  is  still  another  aspect  under  which  the 
beauty  of  the  world  may  be  viewed,  namely,  as  it  be- 
cpmes  an  object  of  the  intellect.  Beside  the  relation  of 
tilings  to  virtue,  they  have  a  relation  to  thought.  The 
intellect  searches  out  the  absolute  order  of  things  as  they 
stand  in  the  mind  of  God,  and  without  the  colors  of  affec- 
\  tion.  The  intellectual  and  the  active  powers  seem  to 
I  succeed  each  other,  and  the  exclusive  activity  of  the  one 
ates  the  exclusive  activity  of  the  other.  There  is 
something  unfriendly  in  each  to  the  other,  biit-fekeyare 
lie  the  alternate  periods  of  feeding  and  working  jn  jsmi. 
maTs^Tatni  prepares  and  will  be  followed  by  the  other. 
Therefore  does  beauty,  which,  in  relation  to  actions,  as 
we  have  seen,  comes  unsought,  and  comes  because  it  is 
unsought,  remain  for  the  apprehension  and  pursuit  of  the 
intellect ;  and  then  again,  in  its  turn,  of  the  active  power. 
Nothing  divine  dies.  All  good  is  eternally  reproductive. 
The  beauty  of  nature  reforms  itself  in  the  mind,  and  not 
for  barren  contemplation,  but  for  new  creation. 

All  men  are  in  some  degree  impressed  by  the  face 
of  the  world ;  some  men  even  to  delight.     This  love  of 


BEAUTY. 


27 


beauty  is  Taste.  Others  have  the  same  love  in  such  ex- 
cessrTliat,  flOt  content  with  admiring,  they  seek  to  em 
body  it  in  new  forms.  The  creation  of  beauty  is  Art. 

The  production  of  a  work  of  art  throws  a  lighF  upon 
the  mystery  of  humanity.  A  work  of  art  is  an  abstract 
or  epitome  of  the  world.  It  is  the  result  or  expression 
if  Tint 'HP,  \n  miniature.  For,  although  the  works  of_na- 


ture  are  innumerable  and  all  different, 


the  result  or  the 
Ufalure  is 


expression  of  them  all  is  similar  "and  single' 
a  sea  of  forms  radically  alike  and  even  unique.  A  leaf, 
a  sunbeam,  a  landscape,  the  ocean,  make  an  analogous 
impression  on  the  mind.  What  is  common  to  them  all, 
—  that  perfectness  and  harmonyTis  beauty.  TEe  stand 


of  beauty  is  the  entire  circuit  of  natural^  forms,  — 
fhft_tnfa1it.y  q£jiature ;  which  the  Italians  expressed  by 
defining  beauty"iT"pm  nell'  uno."  Nothing  is  quite 
beautiful  alone;  nothing  but  is  beautiful  in  the  whole, 
single  object  is  only  so  far  beautiful  as  it  suggests  this 
V^universal  grace.  The  poet,  the  painter,  the  sculptor, 
the  musician,  the  architect,  seek  each  to  concentrate 
this  radiance  of  the  world  on  one  point,  and  each  in 
his  several  work  to  satisfy  the  love  of  beauty  which 
stimulates  him  to  produce.  Thus  is  Art,  a  nature  passed 
through  the  alembic  of  man.  Thus  in  art,  does  nature 
work  through  the  will  of  a  man  filled  with  the  beauty  of 
her  first  works. 

The  world  thus  exists  to  the  soul  to  satisfy  the  desire 
of  beauty.     This  element  I  call  an  ultimate  end.     No 
son  can  be  asked  or  given  why  the  soul  seeks  beauty. 
Beauty,  in  its  largest  and  profoundest  sense,  is  one  ex 
pression  for  the  universe.     God  is  the  all-fair.     Truth 


28  LANGUAGE. 

and  goodness  and  beauty  are  but  different  faces  of  the 
same  All.  But  beauty  in  nature  is  not  ultimate.  It  is 
the  herald  of  inward  and  internal  beauty,  and  is  not 
alone  a  solid  and  satisfactory  good.  It  must  stand  as  a 
part,  and  not  as  yet  the  last  or  highest  expression  of  the 
final  cause  of  Nature. 


CHAPTEE    IV. 

LANGUAGE. 

LANGUAGE  is  a  third  use  which  Nature  subserves  to 
man.     Nature  is  the  vehicle  of  thought,  and  in  a  simple, 
douide,  and  threefold  degree. 
/  1.  Words  are  signs  of  natural  facts. 

/     2.  Particular  natural  facts  are  symbols   of  particular 

(  spiritual  facts. 

\^3.  Nature  is  the  symbol  of  spirit. 
i  1.  Wnrrln  are  fii^iifi  of  natural  facts.     The  use  of  nat- 
tral  history  is  to  givfi  ys  aiH  in  snpprratural  history :  the 

Aise  of  the  outer  creation,  to  give  us  language  for  the 

(beings  and  changes  of  the  inward  creation.  Every  word 
pinch  is  used  to  express  a  moral  or  intellectual  fact,  if 

/traced  to  its  root,  is  found  to  be  borrowed  from  some  ma- 

Itfirial  appearance.  Right  means  straight ;  wrong  means 
tiffistejl.  Spirit  primarily  means  wind  ;  transgression,  the 
crossing  of  a  line  ;  supercilious,  the  raising  of  the  eye 
brow.  We  say  the  heart  to  express  emotion,  the  head 
to  denote  thought ;  and  thought  and  emotion  are  words 
borrowed  from  sensible  things,  and  now  appropriated  to 
spiritual  nature.  Most  of  the  process  Jvgjwhjhh  this 


LANGUAGE.  29 

transformation  is  made  is  hidden  from  us  in  the  remote 
time  when  language  was  framed ,;  but  the  same  tendency 
-  may  be  ddify  oljserved  in  children.  Children  and  savages 
use  only  nouns  or  names  of  things,  which  they  convert 
into  verbs,  and  apply  to  analogous  mental  acts. 

2.  But  this  origin  of  all  words  that  convey  a  spiritual 
import  —  so  conspicuous  a  fact  in  the  history  of  language 
—  is  our  least  debt  to  nature.  Jtjs  not  words  onljjhat 
are  emblematic  ;  it  is  things  which  are  emblematic. 
Every  natural  fact  is  a  symbol  of  some  spiritual  fact. 
Every  appearance  in^pafairp-  ^nrr^gj^0"^^  to  some  state  of 
the  mind,  and  that  state  of  the  rnrnd  can  only"  be  de 
scribed  by  presenting  that  natural  appearance  as  its  pic- 
ture.  _An  enraged  man  is  a  lion,  a  cunning  man  is  a  fox, 
a  firm  man  is  a  rock,  a  learned  man  is  a~torcli.  A  lamb 
is  innocence  ;  a  snake  is  subtle  spite  ;  flowers  express  to 
us  the  delicate  affections.  Light  and  darkness  are  our 
familiar  expression  for  knowledge  and  ignorance  ;  and 
heat  for  love.  Visible  distance  behind  and  before  us  is 
respectively  our  image  of  memory  and  hope. 

Who  looks  upon  a  river  in  a  meditative  hour,  and  is 
not  reminded  of  the  flux  of  all  things  ?  Throw  a  stone 
into  the  stream,  and  the  circles  that  propagate  them 
selves  are  the  beautiful  type  of  all  influence.  IVKm 
conscious  of  a  universal  soul  within  or  behind  his  indi 
vidual  life,  wherein,  as  in  a  firmament,  the  natures  of  \ 
Justice,  Truth.  Love,  Freedom,  arise  and  shine.  This 
universal  soul,  he  calls  Reason :  it  is  not  mine  or  thine, 
or  his,  but  we  are  its ;  we  are  its  property  and  m&tu— - . 
And  the  blue  sky  in  which  the  private  earth  is  buried, 
the  sky  with  its  eternal  calm,  and  full  of  everlasting 


30  LANGUAGE. 


orbs,  is  the  type  of  Reason.  'That  which,  intellectually 
considered,  we  call  Reason,  considered  in  relation  to 
nature,  we  call  Spirit.  Spirit  is  the  Creator.  Spirit 
hath  life  in  itself.  And  man  in  all  ages  and  countries 
embodies  it  in  his  language,  as  the  FATHER. 

It  is  easily  seen  that  there  is 
cious  in  these  analogies,  but  that  they  are  constant,  and 
pervade  nature.  These  are  not  the  dreams  of  a  few 
poets,  here  and  there,  but  rnan  is  an  analogist,  and 
studies  relations  in  all  objects.  He  is  placed  in  the 
centre  of  beings,  and  a  ray  of  relation  passes  from  every 
other  being  to  him.  And  neither  can  man  be  understood 
without  these  objects,  nor  these  objects  without  man. 
All  the  facts  in  natural  history  taken  by  themselves  have 
no  value,  but  are  barren  like  a  single  sex.  But  marry  it 
to  human  history,  and  it  is  full  of  life.  Whole  Floras, 
all  Linneeus's  and  Buffon's  volumes,  are  dry  catalogues 
of  facts;  bu{.  the  most  trivial  of  these  facts,  the  habit  of 
a  plant,  the  organs,  or  work,  or  noise  of  an  insect,  ap 
plied  to  the  illustration  oi'  a  fact  in  intellectual  philoso 
phy,  or,  in  any  way,  associated  to  human  nature,  affects 
us  in  the  most  lively  and  agreeable  manner.  The  seed 
of  a  plant,  —to  what  affecting  analogies  in  the  nature  of 
man  is  that  little  fruit  made  use  of,  in  all  discourse,  up 
to"  the  vOlTO  of"Paul,  who  calls  the"  "human  corpse  a~se e d , 
—  "  It  Ts  sown  a  natural  body ;  it  is  raised  a  spiritual 
body."." The  motion  ot  the  earth  round  its  axis",  and 
round  the  sun,  makes  the  day,  and  the  year.  These  are 
certain  amounts  of  brute  light  and  heat.  But  is  there 
no  intent  of  an  analogy  between  man's  life  and  the 
seasons  ?  And  do  the  seasons  gain  no  grandeur  or 


LANGUAGE.  31 

pathos  from  that  analogy  ?  The  instincts  of  the  ant  are 
very  unimportant,  considered  as  the  ant's ;  but  the  mo 
ment  a  ray  of  relation  is  seen  to  extend  from  it  to  man, 
and  the  little  drudge  is  seen  to  be  a  monitor,  a  little  body 
with  a  mighty  heart,  then  all  its  habits,  even  that  said 
to  be  recently  observed,  that  it  never  sleeps,  becomes 
sublime. 


Because  of  this  radical  correspondence  between  visibL 
things  and  human  thoughts,  savages,  wTTo  have"only  wha 
"is* necessary,  converse  in  figures.  As  we  go  bacfr  in  his 


tory,  language  becomes  more  picturesque,  until  its  in- 
jg.pny,  wlip.n  if.  is  all  poetry;  or  all  spiritual  tacts  are 
represented  by  natural  symbols.  The  same  symbojs_ai'e 
found  to  make  the  original  elements  of  all  languages. 
It  has  moreover  been  observed,  that  the  idioms  of  all 
languages  approach  each  other  in  passages  of  the  greatest 
eloquence  and  power.  And  as  this  is  the  first  language, 
so  is  it  the  last.  This  immediate  dependence  of  language 
upon  nature,  this  conversion  of  an  outward  phenomenon 
into  a  type  of  somewhat  in  human  life,  never  loses  its 
power  to  affect  us.  It  is  this  which  gives  that  piquancy 
to  the  conversation  of  a  strong-natured  farmer  or  back 
woodsman,  which  all  men  relish. 

A  man's  power  to  connect  his  thought  with  its  proper 
symbol,  and  so  to  utter  it,  depends  on  the  simplicity  of 
his  character,  *that  is,  upon  his  love  of  truth,  and  his 
desire  to  communicate  it  without  loss.  The  corruption 
of  man  is  followed  by  the  corruption  of  lan^imff1" When 
simplicity  of  character  and  the  sovereignty  of  ideas  is 
broken  up  by  the  prevalence  of  secondary  desires,  the 
desire  of  riches,  of  pleasure,  of  power,  and  of  praise,  — 


32  LANGUAGE. 

f  and  duplicity  and  falsehood  take  place  of  simplicity  and 
/  truth,  the  power  over  nature  as  an  interpreter  of  the 
lyli  is  i"  -3  dpftrpp,  Jft*t  •  new  imagery  ceases  to  be 
created,  and  old  words  are  perverted  to  stand  for  things 
which  are  not ;  a  paper  currency  is  employed,  when  there 
is  no  bullion  in  the  vaults.  In  due  time,  the  fraud  is 
manifest,  and  words  lose  all  power  to  stimulate  the 
understanding  or  the  affections.  Hundreds  of  writers 
may  be  found  in  every  long-civilized  nation,  who  for  a 
short  time  believe,  and  make  others  believe,  that  they 
see  and  utter  truths,  who  do  not  of  themselves  clothe 
one  thought  in  its  natural  garment,  but  who  feed  un 
consciously  on  the  language  created  by  the  primary 
writers  of  the  country,  those,  namely,  who  hold  primarily 
on  nature. 

But  wise  men  pierce  this  rotten  diction  and  fasten 
words  again  to  visible  things ;  so  that  picturesque  *lan- 
guage  is  at  once  a  commanding  certificate  that  he  who 
employs  it  is  a  man  in  alliance  with  truth   and  God. 
The  moment  our  discourse  rises  above  the  grounolme' 
of  familiar  facts,  and  is  inflamed  with  passion  or  exalted 
by  thought,  it  clothes  itself  in  images.     A  man  convert 
ing  in  earnest,  if  he  watch  his  intellectual  processes,  wily 
find  that  a  material  image,  more  or  less  luminous,  arise 
in  his  mind,  contemporaneous  with  every  thought,  whicl 
furnishes  the  vestment  of  the  thought.     Hence,  goo( 
writing  and  brilliant  discourse  are  perpetual  allegories 
This  imagery  is  spontaneous.     It  is  the  blending  of  ex 
perience  with  the   present  action  of  the   mind.     It  ii 
proper  creation.     It  is  the  working  of  the  Original  Cause 
through  the  instruments  he  has  already  made.  x 


LANGUAGE.  33 

These  facts  may  suggest  the  advantage  which  the  coun 
try  life  possesses  for  a  powerful  mind,  over  the  artificial 
and  curtailed  life  of  cities.  We  know  more  from  nature 
than  we  can  at  will  communicate.  Its  light  flows  into  the 
mind  evermore,  and  we  forget  its  presence.  The  poet, 
the  orator,  bred  in  the  woods,  whose  senses  have  been 
nourished  by  their  fair  and  appeasing  changes,  year  after 
year,  without  design  and  without  heed,  —  shall  not  lose 
their  lesson  altogether,  in  the  roar  of  cities  or  the  broil  of 
politics.  Long  hereafter,  amidst  agitation  and  terror  in 
national  councils,  —  in  the  hour  of  revolution, — these 
solid  images  shall  reappear  in  their  morning  lustre,  as  fit 
symbols  and  words  of  the  thoughts  which  the  passing 
events  shall  awaken.  At  the  call  of  a  noble  sentiment, 
again  the  woods  wave,  the  pines  murmur,  the  river  rolls 
and  shines,  and  the  cattle  low  upon  the  mountains,  as  he 
saw  and  heard  them  in  his  infancy.  And  with  these 
forms,  the  spells  of  persuasion,  the  keys  of  power,  are  put 
into  his  hands. 

3.  We  are  thus  assisted  by  natural  objects  in  the  ex 
pression  of  particular  meanings.     But  how  great  a  lan 
guage  to  convey  such  peppercorn  informations  !     Did  it 
need  such  noble  races   of  creatures,   this  profusion  of    I 
forms,  this  host  of  orbs  in  heaven,  to  furnish  man  with    / 
the   dictionary  and  grammar  of  his  municipal   speech^— ^ 
Whilst  we  use  this  grand  cipher  to  expedite  the  affairs  of 
our  pot  and  kettle,  we  feel  that  we  have  not  yet  put  it  to 
its  use,  neither  are  able.     We  are  like  travellers  using 
the  cinders  of  a  volcano  to  roast  their  eggs.     Whilst  we 
see  that  it  always  stands  ready  to  clothe  what  we  would 
say,  we  cannot  avoid  the  question,  whether  the  characters 


34  LANGUAGE. 

are  not  significant  of  themselves.  Have  mountains,  and 
waves,  and  skies,  no  significance  but  what  we  consciously 
give  them,  when  we  employ  them  as  emblems  of  our 
thoughts  ?  The  word  is  emblematic.  Parts  of  speech 
are  metaphors,  because  the  whole  of  nature  is  a  metaphor 
of  the  human  mind.  The  laws  of  moral  nature  answer  to 
those  of  matter  as  face  to  face  in  a  glass.  "  The  visible 
world  and  the  relation  of  its  parts  is  the  dial-plate  of 
the  invisible."  The  axioms  of  physics  translate  the  law? 
of  ethics.  Thus,  "  the  whole  is  greater  than  its  part "  ; 
"  reaction  is  equal  to  action  "  ;  "  the  smallest  weight  may 
be  made  to  lift  the  greatest,  the  difference  of  weight  be 
ing  compensated  by  time  "  ;  and  many  the  like  proposi 
tions,  which  have  an  ethical  as  well  as  physical  sense. 
These  propositions  have  a  much  more  extensive  and  uni 
versal  sense  when  applied  to  human  life,  than  when  con 
fined  to  technical  use. 

In  like  manner,  the  memorable  words  of  history,  and 
the  proverbs  of  nations,  consist  usually  of  a  natural  fact, 
selected  as  a  picture  or  parable  of  a  moral  truth.  Thus  : 
A  rolling  stone  gathers  no  moss  ;  A  bird  in  the  hand  is 
worth  two  in  the  bush ;  A  cripple  in  the  right  way  will 
beat  a  racer  in  the  wrong ;  Make  hay  while  the  sun  shines ; 
'T  is  hard  to  carry  a  full  cup  even ;  Vinegar  is  the  son  of 
wine ;  The  last  ounce  broke  the  camel's  back ;  Long-lived 
trees  make  roots  first ;  and  the  like.  In  their  primary 
sense  these  are  trivial  facts,  but  we  repeat  them  for  the 
value  of  their  analogical  import.  What  is  true  of  prov 
erbs  is  true  of  all  fables,  parables,  and  allegories. 

This  relation  between  the  mind  and  matter  is  not  fan 
cied  by  some  poet,  but  stands  in  the  will  of  God,  and  so 


LANGUAGE. 


35 


is  free  to  be  known  by  all  men.  It  appears  to  men,  or  it 
does  not  appear.  When  in  fortunate  hours  we  ponder 
this  miracle,  the  wise  man  doubts,  if,  at  all  other  times, 
he  is  not  blind  and  deaf; 

"  Can  these  things  be, 
And  overcome  us  like  a  summer's  cloud, 
Without  our  special  wonder  ?  " 

for  the  universe  becomes  transparent,  and  the  light  of 
higher  laws  than  its  own  shines  through  it.  It  is  the 
standing  problem  which  has  exercised  the  wonder  and 
the  study  of  every  fine  genius  since  the  world  began  ; 
from  the  era  of  the  Egyptians  and  the  Brahmins,  to  that 
of  Pythagoras,  of  Plato,  of  Bacon,  of  Leibnitz,  of  Sweden- 
borg.  There  sits  the  Sphinx  at  the  roadside,  and  from 
age  to  age,  as  each  prophet  comes  by,  he  tries  his  fortuity 
at  reading  her  riddle.  There  seems  to  be  a  necessity  inl 
spirit  to  manifest  itself  in  material  forms ;  and  day  andl 
night,  river  and  storm,  beast  and  bird,  acid  and  alkali,, 
pre-exist  in  necessary  Ideas  in  the  mind  of  God,  and  are 
what  they  are  by  virtue  of  preceding  affections,  in  the 
world  of  spirit.  A  Pact  is  the  end  or  last  issue  of  spirit. 
The  visible  creation  is  the  terminus  or  the  circumference 
of  the  invisible  world.  "  Material  objects,"  said  a  French 
philosopher,  "  are  necessarily  kinds  of  sconce  of  the  sub 
stantial  thoughts  of  the  Creator,  which  must  always  pre 
serve  an  exact  relation  to  their  first  origin;  in  other 
words,  visible  nature  must  have  a.  spiritual  and  moral 
side."  «•**" 

This  doctrine  is  abstruse,  and  though  the  images  of 
"  garment,"  "  scoriae,"  "  mirror,"  etc.,  may  stimulate  the 


36  DISCIPLINE. 

fancy,  we  must  summon  the  aid  of  subtler  and  more 
vital  expositors  to  make  it  plain.     "  Every  scripture  is 
to  be  interpreted  by  the  same  spirit  which  gave  it  forth," 
is  the  fundamental  law  of  criticism.     A  life  in  harmOTiy  A 
with  nature,  the  love  of  truth  and  of  virtue,  will  purge    j 
the  eyes  to  understand  her  text.     By  degrees  we  may 
come  to  know  the  primitive  sense  of  the  permanent  ob 
jects  of  nature,  so  that  the  world  shall  be  to  us  an  open 
book,  and  every  form  significant  of  its  hidden  life  and 
final  cause. 

A.  new  interest  surprises  us,  whilst,  under  the  view 
now  suggested,  we  contemplate  the  fearful  extent  and 
multitude  of  objects ;  since  "  every  object  rightly  seen 
unlocks  a  new  faculty  of  the  soul."  That  which  was 
unconscious  truth  becomes,  when  interpreted  and  defined 
in  an  object,  a  part  of  the  domain  of  knowledge,  —  a 
new  weapon  in  the  magazine  of  power. 


CHAPTER   V. 

DISCIPLINE. 

IN  view  of  the  significance  of  nature,  we  arrive  at 
once  at  a  new  fact,  that  nature  is  a  discipline.  This 
use  of  the  world  includes  the  preceding  uses,  as  parts  of 


pace,  time,  society,  labor,  climate,  food,  locomotion, 
\Jhe  animals,  the  mechanical  forces,  give  us  sincerest  les 
sons,  day  by  day,  whose  meaning  is  unlimited.    They  edu 
cate  both  the    LTndfjsfaTidipfy   and  f.hft  TRpflgnn.     T^yp-gy 
tter  is  a  school  for  the  understanding.  —  its 


DISCIPLINE.  37 

solidity  or  resistance,  its  inertia,  its  extension,  its  figure, 
its  divisibility.  The  understanding  adds,  divides,  com 
bines,  measures,  and  finds  nutriment  and  room  for  its 
activity  in  this  worthy  scene.  Meantime,  Reason  trans 
fers  all  these  lessons  into  its  own  world  of  thought,  by 
perceiving  the  analogy  that  marries  Matter  and  Mind. 

1.    NahiTP.    is    ft  diSffJP1"1?    "f   tfllft    ""dftrsbiT^mor  in    jp. 

tellectual  truths.  Our  dealing  with  sensible  objects  is  a 
constant  exercise  in  the  necessary  lessons  of  difference, 
of  likeness,  of  order,  of  being  and  seeming,  of  progressive 
arrangement ;  of  ascent  from  particular  to  general ;  of 
combination  to  one  end  of  manifold  forces.  Propor 
tioned  to  the  importance  of  the  organ  to  be  formed,  is 
the  extreme  care  with  which  its  tuition  is  provided,  — 
a  care  pretermitted  in  no  single  case.  What  tedious 
training,  day  after  day,  year  after  year,  never  ending,  to 
form  the  common-sense  ;  what  continual  reproduction 
of  annoyances,  inconveniences,  dilemmas ;  what  rejoicing 
over  us  of  little  men ;  what  disputing  of  prices,  what 
reckonings  of  interest,  —  and  all  to  form  the  Hand  of 
the  mind  ;  —  to  instruct  us  that  "  good  thoughts  are  no 
better  than  good  dreams,  unless  they  be  executed  !  " 

The  same  good  office  is  performed  by  Property  and  its 
filial  systems  of  debt  and  credit.  Debt,  grinding  debt, 
whose  iron  face  the  widow,  the  orphan,  and  the  sons  of 
genius  fear  and  hate  ;  — debt,  which  consumes  so  much 
time,  which  so  cripples  and  disheartens  a  great  spirit 
with  cares  that  seem  so  base,  is  a  preceptor  whose  les 
sons  cannot  be  foregone,  and  is  needed  most  by  those 
who  suffer  from  it  most.  Moreover,  property,  which 
has  been  well  compared  to  snow,  —  "  if  it  fall  level  to- 


38  DISCIPLINE. 

day,  it  will  be  blown  into  drifts  to-morrow/'  —  is  the 
surface  action  of  internal  machinery,  like  the  index  on 
the  face  of  a  clock.  Whilst  now  it  is  the  gymnastics  of 
the  understanding,  it  is  hiving  in  the  foresight  of  the 
spirit,  experience  in  profounder  laws. 

The  wlHft  olinlntf!f:pr  flnr>  fr"*Mlnpi  of  the  indiyi^jial  are 
affected  by  the  least  inequalities  in  the  culture  of  the 
tinklers tanding ;  for  example,  in  the  perception  of  differ 
ences.  Therefore  is  Space,  and  therefore  Time,  that 
man  may  know  that  things  are  not  huddled  and  lumped, 
but  sundered  and  individual.  A  bell  and  a  plough  have 
each  their  use,  and  neither  can  do  the  office  of  the  other. 
Water  is  good  to  drink,  coal  to  burn,  wool  to  wear ;  but 
wool  cannot  be  drunk,  nor  water  spun,  nor  coal  eaten. 
The  wise  man  shows  his  wisdom  in  separation,  in  grada 
tion,  and  his  scale  of  creatures  and  of  merits  is  as  wide 
as  nature.  The  foolish  have  no  range  in  their  scale,  but 
suppose  every  man  is  as  every  other  man.  What  is  not 
good  they  call  the  worst,  and  what  is  not  hateful  they 
call  the  best. 

In  like  manner,  what  good  heed  Nature  forms  in  us ! 
She  pardons  no  mistakes.  Her  yea  is  yea,  and  her  nay, 
nay. 

The  first  steps  in  Agriculture,  Astronomy,  Zoology 
(those  first  steps  which  the  farmer,  the  hunter,  and  the 
sailor  take)  teach  that  Nature's  dice  are  always  loaded ; 
that  in  her  heaps  and  rubbish  are  concealed  sure  and 
useful  results. 

How  calmly  and  genially  the  mind  apprehends  one 
after  another  the  laws  of  physics  !  What  noble  emotions 
dilate  the  mortal  as  he  enters  into  the  counsels  of  the 


DISCIPLINE.  39 

*  'reation,  and  feels  by  knowledge  the  privilege  to  BE  ! 
His  insiglit  refines  him.  The  beauty  of  nature  shines  in 
his  own  breast.  Man  is  greater  that  he  can  see  this,  and 
the  universe  less,  because  Time  and  Space  relations  van 
ish  as  laws  are  known. 

Here  again  we  are  impressed  and  even  daunted  by  the 
immense  Universe  to  be  explored.  "  What  we  know,  is 
a  point  to  what  we  do  not  know."  Open  any  recent 
journal  of  science,  and  weigh  the  problems  suggested 
concerning  Light,  Heat,  Electricity,  Magnetism,  Physi 
ology,  Geology,  and  judge  whether  the  interest  of  natural 
science  is  likely  to  be  soon  exhausted. 

Passing  by  many  particulars  of  the  discipline  of  na 
ture,  we  must  not  omit  to  specify  two. 

The  exercise  of  thp.  Will  or  the  lesson  of  power  is 
taught  in  every  event.  From  the  child's  successive  pos 
session  of  his  several  senses  up  to  the  hour  when  he 
saith,  "  Thy  will  be  done !  "  he  is  learning  the  secret, 
that  he  can  reduce  under  his  will,  not  only  particular 
events,  but  great  classes,  nay  the  whole  series  of  events, 
and  so  conform  all  facts  to  his  character.  Nature  is 
thoroughly  mediate.  It  is  made  to  serve.  It  receives 
the  dominion  of  man  as  meekly  as  the  ass  on  which  the 
Saviour  rode.  It  offers  all  its  kingdoms  to  man  as  the 
raw  material  which  he  may  mould  into  what  is  useful. 
He  is  never  weary  of  working  it  up.  He  forges  the 
subtile  and  delicate  air  into  wise  and  melodious  words, 
and  gives  them  wing  as  angels  of  persuasion  and  com 
mand.  One  after  another,  his  victorious  thought  comes 
up  with  and  reduces  all  things,  until  the  world  becomes, 
at  last,  only  a  realized  will,  —  the  double  of  the  man. 


40  DISCIPLINE. 

2.  Sensible  objects  conform  to  the  premonitions  oi 
Reason  and  reflect  the  conscience.  All  things  are  moral ; 
and  in  their  boundless  changes  tiave  an  unceasing  refer 
ence  to  spiritual  nature.  THerefore  is  nature  glorious 
with  form,  color,  and  motion,  that  every  globe  in  the  re 
motest  heaven ;  every  chemical  change  from  the  rudest 
crystal  up  to  the  laws  of  life ;  every  change  of  vegeta 
tion  from  the  first  principle  of  growth  in  the  eye  of  a 
leaf,  to  the  tropical  forest  and  antediluvian  coal-mine ; 
every  animal  function  from  the  sponge  up  to  Hercules, 
shall  hint  or  thunder  to  man  the  laws  of  right  and  wrong, 
and  echo  the  Ten  Commandments.  Therefore  is  nature 
ever  the  ally  of  Religion  :  lends  all  her  pomp  and  nclTes 
to  the  religious  sentiment.  Prophet  and  priest,  David, 
Isaiah,  Jesus,  have  drawn  deeply  from  this  source.  This 
ethical  character  so  penetrates  the  bone  and  marrow  of  na 
ture,  as  to  seem  the  end  for  which  it  was  made.  What 
ever  private  purpose  is  answered  by  any  member  or  part, 
this  is  its  public  and  universal  function,  and  is  never 
omitted.  Nothing  in  nature  is  exhausted  in  its  first : use. 
When  a  thing  has  served  an  enS  to  the  uttermost,  it  is 
wholly  new  for  an  ulterior  service.  In  God,  every  end 
is  converted  into  a  new  means.  Thus  the  use  of  com 
modity,  regarded  by  itself,  is  mean  and  squalid.  But  it  is 
to  the  mind  an  education  in  the  doctrine  of -Use,  namely, 
that  a  thing  is  good  only  so  far  as  it  serves ;  that  a  con 
spiring  of  parts  and  efforts  to  the  production  of  an  end, 
is  essential  to  any  being.  The  first  and  gross  manifesta 
tion  of  this  truth  is  our  inevitable  and  hated  training  in 
values  and  wants,  in  corn  and  meat. 

It  has  already  been  illustrated,  that  every_natural  pro- 


DISCIPLINE.  41 

of  *  ..mm^l  sp.ntennft     The  moral  law  lies  ^ 


at  the  centre  of  nature  and  radiates  to  the  circumference.  -*-" 
It  is  the  pith  and  marrow  of  every  substance,  every  rela- 
tion,  and  every  process.  All  things  with  which  we  deal 
preach  to  us.  What  is  a  farm  but  a  mute  gospel  ?  The 
chaff  and  the  wheat,  weeds  and  plants,  blight,  rain,  in 
sects,  sun,  —  it  is  a  sacred  emblem  from  the  first  furrow 
of  spring  to  the  last  stack  which  the  snow  of  winter 
overtakes  in  the  fields.  But  the  sailor,  the  shepherd, 
the  miner,  the  merchant,  in  their  several  resorts,  have 
each  an  experience  precisely  parallel,  and  leading  to  the 
same  conclusion  :  because  all  organizations  are  radically 
alike.  Nor  can  it  be  doubted  that  this  moral  sentiment 
which  thus  scenis  the  airy  grows  in  the  grain,  and  im 
pregnates  the  waters  of  the  world,  is  ^jigM  Ky  -n\y\\.  and 

jnto  his  soul.  The  moral  influence  of  nature  upon  Vj 
every  individual  is  that  amount  offfnTh  whinh  it  illus.-^y- 
trates  to  him.  Who  can  estimate  this  ?  Who  can  guess 
how  inilUll  'firmness  the  sea-beaten  rock  has  taught  the 
fisherman  ?  how  much  tranquillity  has  been  reflected  to 
man  from  the  azure  sky,  over  whose  unspotted  deeps  the 
winds  forevermore  drive  flocks  of  stormy  clouds,  and 
leave  no  wrinkle  or  stain  ?  how  much  industry  and  provi 
dence  and  affection  we  have  caught  from  the  pantomime 
of  brutes  ?  What  a  searching  preacher  of  self-command 
is  the  varying  phenomenon  of  Health  ! 

Herein  is  especially  apprehended  the  unity  of  Nature, 
—  the  unity  in  variety,  —  which  meets  us  everywhere. 
All  the  endless  variety  of  things  make  an  identical  im 
pression.  Xenophanes  complained  in  his  old  age,  that, 
look  where  he  would,  all  things  hastened  back  to  unity  : 


42  DISCIPLINE. 

he  was  weary  of  seeing  the  same  entity  in  the  tedious 
variety  of  forms.  The  fable  of  Proteus  has  a  cordial 
truth.  A  leaf,  a  drop,  a  crystal,  a  moment  of  time,  is 
related  to  the  whole,  and  partakes  of  the  perfection  of 
the  whole.  Each  particle  is  a  microcosm,  and  faithfully 
renders  the  likeness  of  the  world. 

Not  only  resemblances  exist  in  things  whose  analogy 
is  obvious,  as  when  we  detect  the  type  of  the  human 
hand  in  the  flipper  of  the  fossil  saurus,  but  also  in  objects 
wherein  there  is  great  superficial  unlikeuess.  Thus  ar 
chitecture  is  called  "  frozen  music "  by  De  Stael  and 
Goethe.  Vitruvius  thought  an  architect  should  be  a  musi 
cian.  "  A  Gothic  church,"  said  Coleridge,  "  is  a  petrified 
religion."  Michel  Angelo  maintained,  that,  to  an  archi 
tect,  a  knowledge  of  anatomy  is  essential.  In  Haydn's 
oratorios,  the  notes  present  to  the  imagination,  not  only 
motions,  as,  of  the  snake,  the  stag,  and  the  elephant,  but 
colors  also ;  as  the  green  grass.  The  law  of  harmonic 
sounds  reappears  in  the  harmonic  colors.  The  granite  is 
differenced  in  its  laws  only  by  the  more  or  less  of  heat, 
from  the  river  that  wears  it  away.  The  river,  as  it  flows, 
resembles  the  air  that  flows  over  it ;  the  air  resembles 
the  light  that  traverses  it  with  more  subtile  currents; 
the  light  resembles  the  heat  which  rides  with  it  through 

Space.       Each    r»rp^tlTP    is    only-    a    Tno^ifip.ation    of    the 

oj^ZEj  the  likeness  in  them  is  more  than  the  difference, 
and  their  radi^]  la™  ™ "mm  nnd  jhrj-nmf  A  rule  of 
one  art,  or  a  law  of  one  organization,  horns  true  through 
out  nature.  So  intimate  is  this  Unity,  that,  it  is  easily 

«^^te__  -ii     i    ,        I,  i  i  •  i%  j**-~+i*i*i 

seen,  it  lies  under  ihe  undermost  garment  of  nature,  and 
niversal  Spjrjt For  it  pervades 


DISCIPLINE.  43 


Thought  also.  Every  universal  truth  jghicli  WP. 
in  words  [replies  or  supposes  every  other  truth.  Omne 
verum  vero  consonat.  It  is  like  a  ffceaL  circle  rm  n  Tiphnre, 
comprising  all  possible  circles  ;  which,  however,  may  be 
drawn,  and  comprise  it  in  like  manner.  Every  such 
truth  is  the  absolute  Ens  seen  from  one  side.  But  it 
has  innumerable  sides. 

The  central  Unity  is  still  more  conspicuous  in  actions. 
Words  are  finite  organs  of  j.he  infinite  mind.  They  can- 
notcover  the  dimensions  of  what  is  in  truth.  They 
break,  chop,  and:  impoverish  it  An  action  is  the  perfec 
tion  and  publication  of  thought.  A  right  actiqn,  seems  to 
fill  the  eye,  and  to  be  HatH  tn  HI  n^"^  "  The  wisfi. 
man,  in  doing  one  thing,  does  all  ;  or,  in  the  one  thing 
f  Efrtlutij  iighllj,  hb  sees  the  likeness  of  all  which  is  done 
rightly." 

Words  and  actions  are  not  the  attributes  of  brute  na 
ture.  They  introduce  us  to  the  human  form,  of  which  all 
other  organizations  appear  to  be  degradations.  When 
this  appears  among  so  many  that  surround  it,  the  spirit 
prefers  it  to  all  others.  It  says  :  "  From  such  as  this 
have  I  drawn  joy  and  knowledge  ;  in  such  as  this  have  I 
found  and  beheld  myself  ;  I  will  speak  to  it  ;  it  can  speak 
again;  it  can  yield  me  thought  already  formed  and 
alive."  In  fact,  the  eye  —  the  mind  —  is  always  accom 
panied  by  these  forms,  male  and  female  ;  and  these  are 
incomparably  the  richest  informations  of  the  power  and 
order  that  lie  at  the  heart  of  things.  Unfortunately, 
every  one  of  them  bears  the  marks  as  of  some  injury  ; 
is  marred  and  superficially  defective.  Nevertheless,  far 
different  from  the  deaf  and  dumb  nature  around  them, 


44  IDEALISM. 

these  all  rest  like  fountain-pipes  on  the  unfathomed  sea 
of  thought  and  virtue  whereto  they  alone,  of  all  organ 
izations,  are  the  entrances. 

It  were  a  pleasant  inquiry  to  follow  into  detail  their 
ministry  to  our  education,  but  where  would  it  stop  ?  We 
are  associated  in  adolescent  and  adult  life  with  some 
friends,  who,  like  skies  and  waters,  are  coextensive  with 
our  idea ;  who,  answering  each  to  a  certain  affection  of 
the  soul,  satisfy  our  desire  on  that  side  ;  whom  we  lack 
power  to  put  at  such  focal  distance  from  us,  that  we  can 
mend  or  even  analyze  them.  We  cannot  choose  but  love 
them.  When  much  intercourse  with  a  friend  has  sup 
plied  us  with  a  standard  of  excellence,  and  has  increased 
our  respect  for  the  resources  of  God  who  thus  sends  a 
real  person  to  outgo  our  ideal ;  when  he  has,  moreover, 
become  an  object  of  thought,  and,  whilst  his  character 
retains  all  its  unconscious  effect,  is  converted  in  the 
mind  into  solid  and  sweet  wisdom,  —  it  is  a  sign  to  us 
that  his  office  is  closing,  and  he  is  commonly  withdrawn 
from  our  sight  in  a  short  time. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

IDEALISM. 

THUS  is  the  unspeakable  but  intelligible  and  practica 
ble  meaning  of  the  world  conveyed  to  man,  the  immortal 
pupil,  in  every  object  of  sense.  To  this  one  end  of  Dis 
cipline,  all  parts  of  nature  conspire. 

A  noble  doubt  perpetually  suggests  itself,  whether 
this  end  be  not  the  Final  Cause  of  the  Universe ;  and 


IDEALISM.  45 

whether  nature  outwardly  exists.  It  is  a  sufficient  ac 
count  of  that  Appearance  we  call  the  World,  that  God 
will  teach  a  human  mind,  and  so  makes  it  the  receiver  of 
a  certain  number  of  congruent  sensations,  which  we  call 
sun  and  moon,  man  and  woman,  house  and  trade.  In 
my  utter  impotence  to  test  the  authenticity  of  the  re 
port  of  my  senses,  to  know  whether  the  impressions 
they  make  on  me  correspond  with  outlying  objects,  what 
difference  does  it  make,  whether  Orion  is  up  there  in 
heaven,  or  some  god  paints  the  image  in  the  firmament 
of  the  soul  ?  The  relations  of  parts  and  the  end  of  the 
whole  remaining  the  same,  what  is  the  difference,  whether 
land  and  sea  interact,  and  worlds  revolve  and  intermingle 
without  number  or  end,  —  deep  yawning  under  deep, 
and  galaxy  balancing  galaxy,  throughout  absolute  space, 
—  or,  whether,  without  relations  of  time  and  space,  the 
same  appearances  are  inscribed  in  the  constant  faith  of 
man?  Whether  nature  enjoy  a  substantial  existence 
without,  or  is  only  in  the  apocalypse  of  the  mind,  it  is 
alike  useful  and  alike  venerable  to  me.  Be  it  what  it 
may,  it  is  ideal  to  me,  so  long  as  I  cannot  try  the  ac 
curacy  of  my  senses. 

The  frivolous  make  themselves  merry  with  the  Ideal 
theory,  as  if  its  consequences  were  burlesque ;  as  if  it 
affected  the  stability  of  nature.  It  surely  does  not. 

^- j"'  +  -   "''']        i   -^  —11  nnti  ^ompromise^  the 

end  of  nature,  by  permitting  any  inconsequence  jnjts 
procession.  Joi#— disiiustjpf  the  permanence  of  laws 
would  pnralyne  j]iefaculties  of  man.  Their  permanence 
is  sacredly  respecte^  and  his  faith  therein  is  perlect. 
The  wheels  anTTsprings  of  man  are  all  set  to  tfre  bvpoth- 


46  IDEALISM. 

e£Js_of  the  permanence  of  nature.  We  are  not  built  like 
a  ship  to  be  tossed,  but  like  a  house  to  stand.  It  is  a 
natural  consequence  of  this  structure,  that,  sp^  long,  as 
the  active  powers  predominate  flyfir  film  T^prtivr,  we 
i^aifit^with  indignation  any  hint  that,  nature  is  more 
short-lived  or  'muiaPie  "than  spirit.  The  broKS^  the 
wlTeel  wright,  the  carpenter,  the  toll-man,  are  much  dis 
pleased  at  the  intimation. 

But  whilst  we  acquiesce  entirely  in  the  permanence 
of  natural  laws,  the  question  of  the  absolute  existence  of 
nature  still  remains  open.  It  is  the  uniform  effect  of 
culture  on  the  human  mind,  not  to  shake  our  faith  in 
the  stability  of  particular  phenomena,  as  of  heat,  water, 
azote ;  but  to  lead  us  to  regard  nature  as  a  phenome 
non,  not  a  substance ;  to  attribute  necessary  existence 
to  spirit;  to  esteem  nature  as  an  accident  and  an  ef 
fect. 

To  the  senses  and  the  unrenewed  understanding  be 
longs  a  sort  of  instinctive  belief  in  the  absoluuTsxI&tance 
e^galUre.  In  lht;ir  Yinv,  mn  nH  "itvrft  urn  inrliiHu 
hljjomed.  Things  are  ultimates,  and  they  never  look 
beyond  ttieir  sphere.  The  presence  of  Reason  mars JJijs 
faiJE!  The  first  effort  of  Iliuuglil  twids  l6"TeIax  this 
despotism  of  the  senses,  which  binds  us  to  nature  as  if 
we  were  a  part  of  it,  and  shows  us  nature  aloof,  and,  as 
it  were,  afloat.  Until  this  higher  agency  intervened,  the 
animal  eye  sees,  with  wonderful  accuracy,  sharp  outlines 
and  colored  surfaces.  When  the  eye  of  Reason  opens, 
to  outline  and  surface  are  at  once  added  grace  and 
expression.  These  proceed  from  imagination  and  affec 
tion,  and  abate  somewhat  of  the  angular  distinctness  of 


IDEALISM.  47 

objects.  If  the  Reason  be  stimulated  to  more  earnest 
vision,  outlines  and  surfaces  become  transparent,  and  are 
no  longer  seen;  causes  and  spirits  are  seen  through 
them.  The  best  moments  of  life  are  these  delicious 
awakenings  of  the  higher  powers,  and  the  reverential 
withdrawing  of  nature  before  its  God. 

Let  us  proceed  to  indicate  the  effects  of  culture. 
1.  Our  first  institution  in  the  Ideal  philosophy  is  a 
hint  from  Nature  herself. 

Xut.iir.e  is  nvidc  to  conspire  with  spirit  to  emancipate 
us.  Certain  mechanical  changes^  a  small  alteration  in 
our  local  position  apprises  us  of  a  dualism.  We  are 
strangely  affected  by  seeing  the  shore  from  a  moving 
ship,  from  a  balloon,  or  through  the  tints  of  an  unusual 
sky.  The  least  change  in  our  point  of  view  gives  the 
whole  world  'a  pictorial  air.  A  man  who  seldom  rides 
needs  only  to  get  into  a  coach  and  traverse  his  own 
town,  to  turn  the  street  into  a  puppet-show.  The  men, 
the  women,  —  talking,  running,  bartering,  fighting,  — 
the  earnest  mechanic,  the  lounger,  the  beggar,  the  boys, 
the  dogs,  are  unrealized  at  once,  or  at  least  wholly  de 
tached  from  all  relation  to  the  observer,  and  seen  as 
apparent,  not  substantial  beings.  What  new  thoughts 
are  suggested  by  seeing  a  face  of  country  quite  familiar, 
in  the  rapid  movement  of  the  railroad  car!  Nay,  the 
most  wonted  objects  (make  a  very  slight  change  in  the 
point  of  vision)  please  us  most.  In  a  camera-obscura, 
the  butcher's  cart  and  the  figure  of  one  of  our  own 
family  amuse  us.  So  a  portrait  of  a  well-known  face 
gratifies  us.  Turn  the  eyes  upside  down,  by  looking  at 
the  landscape  through  your  legs,  and  how  agreeable  is 


48  IDEALISM. 

the  picture,  though  you  have  seen  it  any  time  these 
twenty  years ! 

In  these  cases,  by  mechanical  means,  is  suggested  the 
difference  between  the  observer  and  the  spectacle,  be 
tween  man  and  nature.  Hence  arises  a  pleasure  mixed 
with  awe  ;  I  may  say,  a  low  degree  of  the  sublime  is  felt 
from  the  fact,  probably,  that  man  is  hereby  apprised, 
that,  whilst  the  world  is  a  spectacle,  something  in  himself 
is  stable. 

2.  In  a  higher  manner,  thejpoet  communicajes  the 
samej^asim^  de]jD^tpSj  as  on 

air,  tEe  sun,Jhe_jnoimj-arnf  thR^aTnp^fhft.  pity  jQp.  hero, 
tne  maiden,  not  different  from  what  we  knowjhem,  but 
only  lifted  trom  the  ground  and  afloat  before  the  eye. 
He  unfixes  the  land  and  the  sea,  makes  them  revolve 
around  the  axis  of  his  primary  thought,  and  disposes 
them  anew.  Possessed  himself  by  a  heroic  passion,  he 
uses  matter  as  symbols  of  it.  The  sensual  man  conforms 
thoughts  to  things ;  the  poet  conforms  things  to  his 
thoughts.  The  one  esteems  nature  as  rooted  and  fast ; 
the  other,  as  fluid,  and  impresses  his  being  thereon.  To 
him,  the  refractory  world  is  ductile  and  flexible ;  he  in 
vests  dust  and  stones  with  humanity,  and  makes  them 
the  words  of  the  Reason.  The  imagination  may  be  de 
fined  to  be,  the  use  which  the  Reason  makes  of  the 
material  world.  Shakspeare  possesses  the  power  of  sub 
ordinating  nature  for  the  purposes  of  expression,  beyond 
all  poets.  His  imperial  muse  tosses  the  creation  like  a 
bawble  from  hand  to  hand,  and  uses  it  to  embody  any 
caprice  of  thought  that  is  uppermost  in  his  mind.  The 
remotest  spaces  of  nature  are  visited,  and  the  farthest 


IDEALISM.  49 

sundered  things  are  brought  together,  by  a  subtle  spirit 
ual  connection.  We  are  made  aware  that  magnitude  of 
material  things  is  relative,  and  all  objects  shrink  and 
expand  to  serve  the  passion  of  the  poet.  Thus,  in  his 
sonnets,  the  lays  of  birds,  the  scents  and  dyes  of  flowers, 
he  finds  to  be  the  shadow  of  his  beloved ;  time,  which 
keeps  her  from  him,  is  his  chest ;  the  suspicion  she  has 
awakened  is  her  ornament  ; 

The  ornament  of  beauty  is  Suspect, 

A  crow  which  flics  in  heaven's  sweetest  air. 

His  passion  is  not  the  fruit  of  chance ;  it  swells,  as  he 
speaks,  to  a  city,  or  a  state. 

No,  it  was  builded  far  from  accident ; 

It  suffers  not  in  smiling  pomp,  nor  falls 

Under  the  brow  of  thralling  discontent ; 

It  fears  not  policy,  that  heretic, 

That  works  on  leases  of  short  numbered  hours, 

But  all  alone  stands  hugely  politic. 

In  the  strength  of  his  constancy,  the  Pyramids  seem 
to  him  recent  and  transitory.  The  freshness  of  youth 
and  love  dazzles  him  with  its  resemblance  to  morning. 

Take  those  lips  away 
Which  so  sweetly  were  forsworn  ; 
And  those  eyes,  —  the  break  of  day, 
Lights  that  do  mislead  the  morn. 

The  wild  beauty  of  this  hyperbole,  I  may  say,  in  passing, 
it  would  not  be  easy  to  match  in  literature. 

This  transfiguration  which  all  material  objects  undergo 


50  IDEALISM. 

through  the  passion  of  the  poet,  —  this  power  which  he 
exerts  to  dwarf  the  great,  to  magnify  the  small,  —  might 
be  illustrated  by  a  thousand  examples  from  his  plays.  I 
have  before  me  the  Tempest,  and  will  cite  only  these  few 
lines. 

ARIEL.     The  strong  based  promontory 

Have  I  made  shake,  and  by  the  spurs  plucked  up 

The  pine  and  cedar. 

Prospero  calls  for  music  to  soothe  the  frantic  Alonzo, 
and  his  companions  ; 

A  solemn  air,  and  the  best  comforter 
To  an  unsettled  fancy,  cure  thy  brains 
Now  useless,  boiled  within  thy  skull. 
Again ; 

The  charm  dissolves  apace, 
And,  as  the  morning  steals  upon  the  night, 
Melting  the  darkness,  so  their  rising  senses 
Begin  to  chase  the  ignorant  fumes  that  mantle 
Their  clearer  reason. 

Their  understanding 

Begins  to  swell :  and  the  approaching  tide 
"Will  shortly  fill  the  reasonable  shores 
That  now  lie  foul  and  muddy. 

The  perception  of  real  affinities  between  events  (that  is 
to  say,  of  ideal  affinities,  for  those  only  are  real)  enables 
the  poet  thus  to  make  free  with  the  most  imposing  forms 
and  phenomena  of  the  world,  and  to  assert  the  predomi 
nance  of  the  soul. 

f~*  3.  Whilst  thus  the  poet  animates  nature  with  his  own 
|  thoughts,  he  differs  from  the  philosopher  only  herein, 
Vlliat  the  one  proposes  Beauty  as  his  main  end ;  the  other, 


IDEALISM.  51 

But  the  philosopher,  not  less  than  the  poet, 
postpones  the  apparent  order  and  relations  of  things  io 
the  empire  of  thought.  "  The  problem  of  philosophy," 
according  to  Plato,  "  is,  for  all  that  exists  conditionally, 
to  find  a  ground  unconditioned  and  absolute."  It  pro 
ceeds  on  the  faith  that  a  law  determines  all  phenomena, 
which  being  known,  the  phenomena  can  be  predicted. 
That  law,  when  in  the  mind,  is  an  idea.  Its  beauty  is 
infinite.  The  true  philosopher  and  the  true  poet  are 
one,  and  a  beauty  which  is  truth,  and  a  trutE_  wEjcF  is 
beauty,  is  the  aim  of  both.  Is  not  the  charm  of  one  of 
Plato's  or  Aristotle's  definitions  strictly  like  that  of  the 
Antigone  of  Sophocles?  It  is,  in  both  cases,  that  a 
spiritual  life  has  been  imparted  to  nature  ;  that  the  solid 
seeming  block  of  matter  has  been  pervaded  and  dissolved 
by  a  thought ;  that  this  feeble  human  being  has  pene 
trated  the  vast  masses  of  nature  with  an  informing  soul, 
and  recognized  itself  in  their  harmony,  that  is,  seized 
their  law.  In  physics,  when  this  is  attained,  the  memory 
disburdens  itself  of  its  cumbrous  catalogues  of  particu 
lars,  and  carries  centuries  of  observation  in  a  single  for 
mula. 

Thus  even  in  physics,  the  material  is  degraded  before 
the  spiritual.  The  astronomer,  the  geometer,  rely  on 
their  irrefragable  analysis,  and  disdain  the  results  of  ob 
servation.  The  sublime  remark  of  Euler  on  his  law  of 
arches,  "  This  will  be  found  contrary  to  all  experience, 
yet  is  true,"  had  already  transferred  nature  into  the 
mind,  and  left  matter  like  an  outcast  corpse. 

4.  Intellectual  science  has  been__Qbserved  to~beget 
invariably  a  doubt  of  the  existence  of  matter.  Turgot 


52  IDEALISM. 

said,  "  He  that  has  never  doubted  the  existence  of  mat 
ter  may  be  assured  he  has  no  aptitude  for  metaphysical 
inquiries."  It  fastens  the  attention  upon  immortal  ne 
cessary  uncreated  natures,  that  is,  upon  Ideas  ;  and  in 
their  presence,  we  feel  that  the  outward  circumstance  is 
a  dream  and  a  shade.  Whilst  we  wait  in  this  Olympus 
of  gods,  we  think  of  nature  as  an  appendix  to  t.hfi_snnl. 
We  ascend  into  their  region,  and  know  that  these  are 
the  thoughts  of  the  Supreme  Being.  "  These  are  they 
who  were  set  up  from  everlasting,  from  the  beginning, 
or  ever  the  earth  was.  When  he  prepared  the  heavens, 
they  were  there ;  when  he  established  the  clouds  above, 
when  he  strengthened  the  fountains  of  the  deep.  Then 
they  were  by  him,  as  one  brought  up  with  him.  Of  them 
took  he  counsel." 

Their  influence  is  proportionate.  As  objects  of  science, 
they  are  accessible  to  few  men.  Yet  all  men  are  capable 
of  being  raised  by  piety  or  by  passion  into  their  region. 
And  no  man  touches  these  divine  natures,  without  be 
coming,  in  some  degree,  himself  divine.  Like  a  new 
soul,  they  renew  the  body.  We  become  physically  nim 
ble  and  lightsome ;  we  tread  on  air ;  life  is  no  longer  irk 
some,  and  we  think  it  will  never  be  so.  No  man  fears 
age  or  misfortune  or  death,  in  their  serene  company,  for 
he  is  transported  out  of  the  district  of  change.  Whilst 

Wftjiftlmlri  iinvftilftd  f.hft    nnfnrp    pf  .Tngti'pA-B»4.Trj]th,  WC 

Wp  flip,  diffftrpnnft  M.wpp.n  the  absolute  and  the  condi- 
tionaL~or  relative.  We  apprehend  the  absolute.  As  it 
were,  for, the  first  time,  w#  giriV...  We  becomelmmortal, 
for  we  learn  that  time  and  space  are  relations  of  matter; 
that,  with  a  perception  of  truth,  or  a  virtuous  will,  they 
have  no  affinity. 


IDEALISM.  53 

5.  Finally,  religion  and  ethics  —  which  may  be  fitly 
called  the  practice  of  ideas,  or  the  introduction  o£-4deas 
mtolife  —  have  an  analogous  effect  with  all  lower  cul 
ture,  in  degrading  nature  and  suggesting  its  dependence 
on  spirit.  Ethics  and  religion  differ  herein  ;  that  the 
one  is  the  system  of  human  duties  commencing  from 
man;  the  other,  from  God._^  Religion  includes  the  per 
sonality  of  God ;  Ethics  does  not.  They  are  one  to  our 
present  design.  They  both  put  natoire__uiider_Joot.  The 
first  and  last  lesson  of  religion  is,  "  The  things  that  are 
seen,  are  temporal;  the  things  that  a^  1insfr^p|  njp  eter-^Y 
nal/i  it  puts  an  affront  upon  nature.  It  does  that  for^ 
the  unschooled,  which  philosophy  does  for  Berkeley  and 
Viasa.  The  uniform  language  that  may  be  heard  in  the 
churches  of  the  most  ignorant  sects  is,  "  Contemn  the 
unsubstantial  shows  of  the  world;  they  are  vanities, 
dreams,  shadows,  unrealities ;  seek  the  realities  of  relig 
ion."  The  devotee  flouts  nature.  Some  theosophists 
have  arrived  at  a  certain  hostility  and  indignation  to 
wards  matter,  as  the  Manichean  and  Plotinus.  They 
distrusted  in  themselves  any  looking  back  to  these  flesh- 
pots  of  Egypt.  Plotinus  was  ashamed  of  his  body.  In 
short,  they  might  all  say  of  matter,  what  Michel  Angelo 
said  of  external  beauty,  "  It  is  the  frail  and  weary  weed, 
in  which  God  dresses  the  soul,  which  he  has  called  into 
time." 

It  appears  that  motion.  poetry,  physical  nnrl  iTijjplW. 
tual  science,  and  religion,  all  tend  to  affect  our  convic- 
iOTS  of  tbe"TeaHiaJ)t  CETexternaT  world.  But  I  own 
there  is  something  ungrateful  in  expanding  inn  pnrinasly 
the  particulars  of  the  general^^J^ojiUfin^haLall  culttww 


54  IDEALISM. 

tends  to  imbue  us  with  idealism.  I  have  no  hostility 
to  nature,  but  a  child's  love  to  it.  I  expand  and  live  in 
the  wanK  day  lite  corn  and  melons.  Let  us  speak 
her  fair.  I  do  not  wish  to  fling  stones  at  my  beautiful 
mother,  nor  soil  my  gentle  nest.  I  only  wish  to  indicate 
the  true  position  of  nature  in  regard  to  man,  wherein  to 
establish  man,  all  right  education  tends ;  as  the  ground 
which  to  attain  is  the  object  of  human  life,  that  is,  of 
man's  connection  with  nature.  Culture  inverts  the  vul 
gar  views  of  nature,  and  brings  the  mind  to  calljjiat 
apparent,  which  it  uses  to  call  real,  and  that  reaj^Jiich 
it  uses  to  call  visio»ftry.  Children,  it  is  true,  believe  in 
the  external  world.  The  belief  that  it  appears  only,  is 
an  afterthought,  but  with  culture,  this  faith  will  as  surely 
arise  on  the  mind  as  did  the  first. 

The  advantage  of  the  ideal  theory  over  the  popular 
faith  is  tluJTflial  It  presents  the  world  in  preciselyjhat 
view  which  is  most  desirable  tothe  mind,  iris,  in  fact, 
the  view  which  Reason,  both  speculative  and  practical. 
that  is,  philosophy  and  virtue,  take.  For,  seen  in  the 
light  of  thought,  the  world  always  is  phenomenal ;  and 
virtue  subordinates  it  to  the  miixd.  Idealism  sees  the 
world  in  God.  It  beholds  the  whole  circle  of  persons 
and  things,  of  actions  anoevenis,  of  country  and  religion, 
aq4.  as  "pamtullyaccumulated,  atom  after  atom,  jict.  after 
act,  in  an  aged  creeping  Past,  but  as  one  vast  picture, 
which  God  paints  on  the  instant  eternity,  for  the  contem 
plation  of  the  soul.  Therefore  the  soul  holds  itself  off 
from  a  too  trivial  and  microscopic  study  of  the  universal 
tablet.  It  respects  the  end  too  much,  to  immerse  itself 
in  the  means.  It  sees  something  more  important  in 


SPIRIT.  55 

Christianity  than  the  scandals  of  ecclesiastical  history,  or 
the  niceties  of  criticism  ;  and,  very  incurious  concerning 
persons  or  miracles,  and  not  at  all  disturbed  by  chasms 
of  historical  evidence,  it  accepts  from  God  the  phenome 
non,  as  it  finds  it,  as  the  pure  and  awful  form  of  religion 
in  the  world.  It  is  not  hot  and  passionate  at  the  appear 
ance  of  what  it  calls  its  own  good  or  bad  fortune,  at  the 
union  or  opposition  of  other  persons.  No  man  is  its 
enemy.  It  accepts  whatsoever  befalls,  as  part  of  its  les 
son.  It  is  a  watcher  more  than  a  doer,  and  it  is  a  doer, 
only  that  it  may  the  better  watch. 

CHAPTER    VII. 

SPIRIT. 

IT  is  essential  to  a  true  theory  of  nature  and  of  man, 
that  it  should  contain  somewhat  progressive.  Uses  that 
are  exhausted  or  that  may  be,  and  facts  that  end  in  the 
statement,  cannot  be  all  that  is  true  of  this  brave  lodging 
wherein  man  is  harbored,  and  wherein  all  his  faculties 
find  appropriate  and  endless  exercise.  And  ^tha  *mg 
of  nature  admit  of  beinff  summed  in  one,  which  yields 
the  activity  of  man  an  infifflfa  scope.  Through  all  its 
kingdoms,  to  the  suburbs  and  outskirts  of  things,  it  is 
faithful  to  the  cause  whence  it  had  its  origin.  Tfc  always 
speaks  of  Spirit.  It  suggests  the  absolute.  It  is  a  per 
petual  enect.  it  is  a  great  shaduW  p6lntmg  aiwgys  to 
the  sun  "behind  us^ 

The  aspect  of  nature  is  devout.  T.j]^  {.fa  fjg»1lrp  of 
Jesus,  she  stands  with  bended  beadr  ai^  fronds 


56 


SPIRIT. 


upon  the  breast.     The  happiest  man  is  he  who  learns 

fm         at.nr      hp. 


Of  that  ineffable  essence  which  we  call  Spirit,  he  that 
thinks  most  will  say  least.  We  can  foresee  God  in  the 
coarse,  as  it  were,  distant  phenomena  of  matter  ;  but 
when  we  try  to  define  and  describe  himself,  both  lan 
guage  and  thought  desert  us,  and  we  are  as  helpless  as 
fools  and  savages.  That  essence  refuses  to  be  recorded 
in  propositions,  but  when  man  has  worshipped  him_  intel- 
lectually,  the  noblest  ministry  of  nature  is  to  stand  as  the 
"apparition  otl  God.  It  is  the  organ  through  which  the 
universal  spirit  speaks  to  the  individual,  and  strives  to 
lead  back  the  individual  to  it. 

When  we  consider  Spirit,  we  see  that  the  views  already 
presented  do  not  include  the  whole  circumference  of  man. 
We  must  add  some  related  thoughts. 

Three  problems  are  tnit  by  nature_+n  f^°  ipmd:  What 

these  questions  only,  the  ideal  theory  answers.     Idealism 
saith  :  matter  is  It  plrenornp"™\  not,  &  snh^flnnp      Ideal 
ism  acqiiamtS  Us  witlTthe  total  disparity  between  the 
evidence  ^  niir  "wn  fyinfT-   ^  *hft  p.virlp.np.p.   of  the 
world's  being.     The  one  is  perfect  ;  the  other,  incapable 
of  any  assurance  ;  the  mind  is  a  part  of  the  nature  of 
things  ;  the  -w^rlH  i^  ^  HHn?  rlrpnrn  from  which  we  may 
.......  ^certainties  of  lay. 

Idealism^  is  a  hypothesis  to  ap.ppinif,  JQT  nature  by  other 

if  it  only  deny  the  existence  of  matter,  it  does  not  satisfy 
the  demands  of  the  spirit.  It  leaves  God  out  of  me.  It 
leaves  me  in  the  splenetic}  labvrinth  of  my  perceptions,  to 


SPIRIT.  57 

wander  without  end.  Then  the  heart  resists  it,  because 
it  balks  the  affections  in  denying  substantive  being  to 
men  and  women.  Nature  is  so  pervaded  with  human 
life,  that  there  is  something  of  humanity  in  all,  and  in 
every  particular.  But  this  theory  makes  nature  foreign 
to  me,  and  does  not  account  for  that  consanguinity  which 
we  acknowledge  to  it. 

Let  it  stand,  then,  in  the  present  state  of  our  knowl 
edge,  merely  as  a  useful  introductory  hypothesis,  serving 
to  apprise  us  of  the  eternal  distinction  between  the  soul 
and  the  world. 

But  when,  following  the  invisible  steps  of  thought,  we 
come  to  inquire,  Whence  is  matter  ?  and  Whereto  ?  many 
truths  arise  to  us  out  of  the  recesses  of  consciousness. 
We  learn  that  the  highest  is  present  to  the  soul  of  man, 
that  the  dread  universal  essence,  which  is  not  wisdom, 
or  love,  or  beauty,  or  power,  but  all  in  one,  and  each 
entirely,  is  that  for  which  all  things  exist,  and  that  by 
which  they  are ;  that  spirit  creates  ;  that  behind  nature, 
throughout  nature,  spirit  is  present ;  one  and  not  com 
pound,  it  does  not  act  upon  us  from  without,  that  is,  in 
space  and  time,  but  spiritually,  or  through  ourselves: 
therefore,  that  spirit,  that  is,  the  Supreme  Being,  does 
not  build  up  nature  around  us,  but  puts  it  forth  through 
us,  as  the  life  of  the  tree  puts  forth  new  branches  and 
leaves  through  the  pores  of  the  old.  As  a  plant  upon 
the  earth,  so  a  man  rpctcvipo^  |Lo  Knc^m  ^f^T^rl ;  ne  js 
nourished  by  uufailing'tountains,  and  draws,  at  his  need, 
inexhaustible  power.  Who  can  set  bounds  to  the  possi 
bilities  of  man  ?  Once  inhale  the  upper  air,  being  ad 
mitted  to  behold  the  absolute  natures  of  justice  and 
3* 


58  SPIRIT. 

truth,  and  we  learn  that  man  has  access  to  the  entire 
mind  of  the  Creator,  is  himself  the  creator  in  the  finite. 
This  view,  which  admonishes  me  where  the  sources  of 
wisdom  and  power  lie,  and  points  to  virtue  as  to 

"The  golden  key 
"Which  opes  the  palace  of  eternity," 

carries  upon  its  face  the  highest  certificate  of  truth,  be 
cause  it  animates  me  to  create  my  own  world  through 
the  purification  of  my  soul. 

The  wm'jdnroceeds  from  the  same  spirit  as  the  body 
_pf  man^  TtTr n-j^m^i^  and,  inferior  incarnation "fiTflnd. 
ajgrojectiou  of  God  in  the  unconscious.  But  it  differs  J 
fmiSPnrijuJj  111  one  important  respect.  It  is  not,  like  Nl 
.that,  now  subjected  to  the  human  will.  Its  serene  order 
is  inviolable  by  us.  It  is,  therefore,  to  us,  tSeTprdisent 
Expositor  of  the  'divine  miad.  It  is  a  fl™fl  p™'"*  wtiomKy 
we  may  measure  our  departure.  As  we  degenerate,  the 
contrast  between  us  and  our  house  is  more  evident.  We 
are  as  much  strangers  in  nature,  as  we  are  aliens  from 
God.  We  do  not  understand  the  notes  of  birds.  The 
fox  and  the  deer  run  away  from  us ;  the  bear  and  tiger 
rend  us.  We  do  not  know  the  uses  of  more  than  a  lew 
plants,  as  corn  and  the  apple,  the  potato  and  the  vine. 
Is  not  the  landscape,  every  glimpse  of  which  hath  a  gran 
deur,  a  face  of  him  ?  Yet  this  may  show  us  what  discord 
is  between  man  and  nature,  for  you  cannot  freely  admire 
a  noble  landscape,  if  laborers  are  digging  in  the  field 
hard  by.  The  poet  finds  something  ridiculous  in  his  de 
light,  until  he  is  out  of  the  sight  of  men. 


PEOSPECTS.  59 

CHAPTER   VIII. 

PROSPECTS. 

IN  inquiries  respecting  the  laws  of  the  world  and  the 
frame  of  things,  the  highest  reason  is  always  the  truest. 
That  which  seems  faintly  possible,  —  it  is  so  refined,  is 
often  faint  and  dim  because  it  is  deepest  seated  in  the 
mind  among  the  eternal  verities.  .Empirical  science  is  apt 
to  cloud  the  sight,  and,  by  the  very  knowledge  of  func 
tions  and  processes,  to  bereave  the  student  of  the  manly 
contemplation  of  the  whole.  The  savant  becomes  un- 
poetic.  But  the  best  read  naturalist  who  lends  an  entire 
and  devout  attention  to  truth,  will  see  that  there  remains 
much  to  learn  of  his  relation  to  the  world,  and  that  it  is 
not  to  be  learned  by  any  addition  or  subtraction  or  other 
comparison  of  known  quantities,  but  is  arrived  at  by  un 
taught  sallies  of  the  spirit,  by  a  continual  self-recovery, 
and  by  entire  humility.  He  will  perceive  that  there  are 
far  more  excellent  qualities  in  the  student  than  precise- 
ness  and  infallibility ;  that  a  guess  is  often  more  fruitful 
than  an  indisputable  affirmation,  and  that  a  dream  may 
let  us  deeper  into  the  secret  of  nature  than  a  hundred 
concerted  experiments. 

For,  the  problems  to  be  solved  are  precisely  those 
which  the  physiologist  and  the  naturalist  omit  to  state. 
It  is  not  so  pertinent  to  man  to  know  all  the  individuals 
of  the  animal  kingdom,  as  it  is  to  know  whence  and 
whereto  is  this  tyrannizing  unity  in  his  constitution,  which 
evermore  separates  and  classifies  things,  endeavoring  to 
reduce  the  most  diverse  to  one  form.  When  I  behold 


60  PROSPECTS. 

a  rich  landscape,  it  is  less  to  my  purpose  to  recite  cor 
rectly  the  order  and  superposition  of  the  strata,  than  to 
know  why  all  thought  of  multitude  is  lost  in  a  tranquil 
sense  of  unity.  I  cannot  greatly  honor  minuteness  in 
details,  so  long  as  there  is  no  hint  to  explain  the  relation 
between  things  and  thoughts ;  no  ray  upon  the  Meta 
physics  of  conchology,  of  botany,  of  the  arts,  to  show  the 
relation  of  the  forms  of  flowers,  shells,  animals,  architec 
ture,  to  the  mind,  and  build  science  upon  ideas.  In  a 
cabinet  of  natural  history,  we  become  sensible  of  a  cer 
tain  occult  recognition  and  sympathy  in  regard  to  the 
most  unwieldy  and  eccentric  forms  of  beast,  fish,  and  in 
sect.  The  American  who  has  been  confined,  in  his  own 
country,  to  the  sight  of  buildings  designed  after  foreign 
models,  is  surprised  on  entering  York  Minster  or  St. 
Peter's  at  Rome,  by  the  feeling  that  these  structures  are 
imitations  also,  —  faint  copies  of  an  invisible  archetype. 
Nor  has  science  sufficient  humanity,  so  long  as  the  nat 
uralist  overlooks  that  wonderful  congruity  which  subsists 
between  man  and  the  world;  of  which  he  is  lord,  not 
because  he  is  the  most  subtile  inhabitant,  but  because 
he  is  its  head  and  heart,  and  finds  something  of  himself 
in  every  great  and  small  thing,  in  every  mountain  stra 
tum,  in  every  new  law  of  color,  fact  of  astronomy,  or 
atmospheric  influence  which  observation  or  analysis  lay 
open.  A  perception  of  this  mystery  inspires  the  muse  of 
George  Herbert,  the  beautiful  psalmist  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  The  following  lines  are  part  of  his  little  poem 
on  Man :  — 

"  Man  is  all  symmetry, 
Full  of  proportions,  one  limb  to  another, 


PROSPECTS.  61 

And  all  to  all  the  world  besides. 
Each  part  may  call  the  farthest,  brother  ; 
For  head  with  foot  hath  private  amity, 
And  both  with  moons  and  tides. 

"  Nothing  hath  got  so  far 
But  man  hath  caught  and  kept  it  as  his  prey  ; 

His  eyes  dismount  the  highest  star  ; 

He  is  in  little  all  the  sphere. 
Herbs  gladly  cure  our  flesh,  because  that  they 

Find  their  acquaintance  there. 

"  For  us,  the  winds  do  blow, 
The  earth  doth  rest,  heaven  move,  and  fountains  flow  ; 

Nothing  we  see,  but  means  our  good, 

As  our  delight,  or  as  our  treasure  ; 
The  whole  is  either  our  cupboard  of  food, 

Or  cabinet  of  pleasure. 

"  The  stars  have  us  to  bed  : 
Night  draws  the  curtain  ;  which  the  sun  withdraws. 

Music  and  light  attend  our  head. 

All  things  unto  our  flesh  are  kind, 
In  their  descent  and  being  ;  to  our  mind, 

In  their  ascent  and  cause. 


He  treads  down  that  which  doth  befriend  him 
When  sickness  makes  him  pale  and  wan. 
0  mighty  love  !     Man  is  one  world,  and  hath 
Another  to  attend  him." 

The  perception  of  this  class  of  truths  makes  the  at 
traction  which  draws  men  to  science,  but  the  end  is  lost 


62  PROSPECTS. 

sight  of  in  attention  to  the  means.  In  view  of  this  half- 
sight  of  science,  we  accept  the  sentence  of  Plato,  that, 
)oetry  comes  nearer  to  vifol  t.rnth,  than  history." 
m^ion  of  the  mind  isenTltled  to 
a  certain  respect,  and  we  leatu.4o  prefer  imperfect_theo- 
nes,  and  sentences,  which  con+gi"  ff'^p'jfi0  r>f  tynti^  to 
digested  systems  which  have  no  one 


A  wise  writer  will  feel  that  the  ends  of  study  and  com 
position  are  best  answered  by  announcing  undiscovered 
regions  of  thought,  and  so  communicating,  through  hope, 
new  activity  to  the  torpid  spirit. 

I  shall  therefore  conclude  this  essay  with  some  tradi 
tions  of  man  and  nature,  which  a  certain  poet  sang  to 
me  ;  and  which,  as  they  have  always  been  in  the  world, 
and  perhaps  reappear  to  every  bard,  may  be  both  history 
and  prophecy. 

"  The  foundations  of  man  are  not  in  matter,  but  in 
spirit.  But  the  element  of  spirit  is  eternity.  To  it,  there 
fore,  the  longest  series  of  events,  the  oldest  chronologies, 
are  young  and  recent.  In  the  cycle  of  the  universal  man, 
from  whom  the  known  individuals  proceed,  centuries  are 
points,  and  all  history  is  but  the  epoch  of  one  degrada 
tion. 

"  We  distrust  and  deny  inwardly  our  sympathy  with 
nature.  We  own  and  disown  our  relation  to  it,  by  turns. 
We  are,  like  Nebuchadnezzar,  dethroned,  bereft  of  rea 
son,  and  eating  grass  like  an  ox.  But  who  can  set  limits 
to  the  remedial  force  of  spirit  ? 

"  A  man  is  a  god  in  ruins.  When  men  are  innocent, 
life  shall  be  longer,  and  shall  pass  into  the  immortal, 
as  gently  as  we  awake  from  dreams.  Now,  the  world 


PROSPECTS.  63 

would  be  insane  and  rabid,  if  these  disorganizations 
should  last  for  hundreds  of  years.  It  is  kept  in  check 
by  death  and  infancy.  Infancy  is  the  perpetual  Messiah, 
which  comes  into  the  arms  of  fallen  men,  and  pleads 
with  them  to  return  to  paradise. 

"Man  is  the  dwarf  of  himself.  Once  he  was  per 
meated  and  dissolved  by  spirit.  He  filled  nature  with 
his  overflowing  currents.  Out  from  him  sprang  the  sun 
and  moon ;  from  man,  the  sun ;  from  woman,  the  moon. 
The  laws  of  his  mind,  the  periods  of  his  actions,  exter- 
nized  themselves  into  day  and  night,  into  the  year 
and  the  seasons.  But,  having  made  for  himself  this 
huge  shell,  his  waters  retired;  he  no  longer  fills  the 
veins  and  veinlets ;  he  is  shrunk  to  a  drop.  He  sees  that 
the  structure  still  fits  him,  but  fits  him  colossally.  Say, 
rather,  once  it  fitted  him,  now  it  corresponds  to  him 
from  far  and  on  high.  He  adores  timidly  his  own  work. 
Now  is  man  the  follower  of  the  sun,  and  woman  the 
follower  of  the  moon.  Yet  sometimes  he  starts  in  his 
slumber,  and  wonders  at  himself  and  his  house,  and 
muses  strangely  at  the  resemblance  betwixt  him  and  it. 
He  perceives  that  if  his  law  is  still  paramount,  if  still 
he  have  elemental  power,  if  his  word  is  sterling  yet  in 
nature,  it  is  not  conscious  power,  it  is  not  inferior  but 
superior  to  his  will.  It  is  Instinct."  Thus  my  Orphic 
poet  sang. 

At  present,  man  applies  to  nature  but  half  his  force. 
He  works  on  the  world  with  his  understanding  alone. 
He  lives  in  it,  and  masters  it  by  a  penny-wisdom ;  and 
tie  that  works  most  in  it,  is  but  a  half-man,  and,  whilst 
nis  arms  are  strong  and  his  digestion  good,  his  mind  is 


64  PROSPECTS. 

imbruted,  and  lie  is  a  selfish  savage.  His  relation  to 
nature,  his  power  over  it,  is  through  the  understanding  : 
as,  by  manure  ;  the  economic  use  of  fire,  wind,  water, 
and  the  mariner's  needle  ;  steam,  coal,  chemical  agricul 
ture  ;  the  repairs  of  the  human  body  by  the  dentist  and 
the  surgeon.  This  is  such  a  resumption  of  power,  as  if 
a  banished  king  should  buy  his  territories  inch  by  inch, 
instead  of  vaulting  at  once  into  his  throne.  Meantime, 
in  the  thick  darkness,  there  are  not  wanting  gleams  of  a 
better  light,  —  occasional  examples  of  the  action  of  m-an 
upon  nature  with  his  entire  force,  —  with  reason  as 
well  as  understanding.  Such  examples  are :  the  tradi 
tions  of  miracles  in  the  earliest  antiquity  of  all  nations ; 
the  history  of  Jesus  Christ ;  the  achievements  of  a  prin 
ciple,  as  in  religious  and  political  revolutions,  and  in 
the  abolition  of  the  Slave-trade  ;  the  miracles  of  enthu 
siasm,  as  those  reported  of  Swedenborg,  Hohenlohe,  and 
the  Shakers ;  many  obscure  and  yet  contested  facts,  now 
arranged  under  the  name  of  Animal  Magnetism  ;  prayer  ; 
eloquence ;  self-healing ;  and  the  wisdom  of  children. 
These  are  examples  of  Reason's  momentary  grasp  of  the 
sceptre ;  the  exertions  of  a  power  which  exists  not  in 
time  or  space,  but  an  instantaneous  in-streaming  causing 
power.  The  difference  between  the  actual  and  the  ideal 
force  of  man  is  happily  figured  by  the  schoolmen,  in 
saying,  that  the  knowledge  of  man  is  an  evening  knowl 
edge,  veKpertina  cognitio,  but  that  of  God  is  a  morning 
knowledge,  matutina  cognitio. 

The  problem  of  restoring  to  the  world  original  and 
eternal  beauty  is  solved  by  the  redemption  of  the  soul. 
The  ruin  or  the  blank,  that  we  see  when  we  look  at 


PROSPECTS. 


65 


nature,  is  in  our  own  eye.  The  axis  of  vision  is  not  co 
incident  with  the  axis  of  things,  and  so  they  appear  not 
transparent  but  opaque.  The  reason  whytheworld 
lacks  unity,  and  lies  broken  and  in  neans>  is.  J)ecause 
lan  is  disunited  with  mmself.  He  cannot  be  a  natural- 


Tst,  until  ne  satisnes  an  ujr.  nrmmnr  or  nnr  ipuir  |  jm  r 
is  as  much  its  demand,  as  perception.  Indeed,  neither 
can  be  ptil'i'buL  wllllUUl  the  otaer.  In  the  uttermost 
meaning  6f  the  words,  thought  is  devout,  and  devotion 
is  thought.  Deep  calls  unto  deep.  But  in  actual  life, 
the  marriage  is  not  celebrated.  There  are  innocent  men 
who  worship  God  after  the  tradition  of  their  fathers,  but 
their  sense  of  duty  has  not  yet  extended  to  the  use  of  all 
their  faculties.  And  there  are  patient  naturalists,  but 
they  freeze  their  subject  under  the  wintry  light  of  the 
understanding.  Is  not  prayer  also  a  study  of  truth,  — 
a  sally  of  the  soul  into  the  unfound  infinite  ?  No  man 
ever  prayed  heartily,  without  learning  something.  But 
when  a  faithful  thinker,  resolute  to  detach  every  object 
from  personal  relations,  and  see  it  in  the  light  of  thought, 
shall,  at  the  same  time,  kindle  science  with  the  fire  of 
the  holiest  affections,  then  will  God  go  forth  anew  into 
the  creation. 

It  will  not  need,  when  the  mind  is  prepared  for  study, 
to  search  for  objects.  The  invariable  mark  of  wisdom  is 
to  see  the  miraculous  in  the  common.  What  is  a  day  ? 
What  is  a  year  ?  What  is  summer  ?  What  is  woman  ? 
What  is  a  child  ?  What  is  sleep  ?  To  our  blindness, 
these  things  seem  unaffecting.  We  make  fables  to  hide 
the  baldness  of  the  fact  and  conform  it,  as  we  say,  to 
the  higher  law  of  the  mind.  But  when  the  fact  is  seen 


66  PHOSPECTS. 

under  the  light  of  an  idea,  the  gaudy  fable  fades  and 
shrivels.  We  behold  the  real  higher  law.  To  the  wise, 
therefore,  a__fact  is  true  poetry,  and  the  most  beautiful 
of  fables.  These  wonders  are  brought  to  our  own  door. 
You  also  are  a  man.  Man  and  woman,  and  their  social 
life,  poverty,  labor,  sleep,  fear,  fortune,  are  known  to 
you.  Learn  that  none  of  these  things  is  superficial,  but 
that  each  phenomenon  has  its  roots  in  the  faculties  and 
affections  of  the  mind.  Whilst  the  abstract  question 
occupies  your  intellect,  nature  brings  it  in  the  concrete 
to  be  solved  by  your  hands.  It  were  a  wise  inquiry  for 
the  closet,  to  compare,  point  by  point,  especially  at 
remarkable  crises  in  life,  our  daily  history,  with  the  rise 
and  progress  of  ideas  in  the  mind. 

So  shall  .we  come  to  look  at  the  world  with  new  eyes. 
It  shall  answer  ihe  'endless  inquiry  of  the  mlellutt1,  — 
What  is  truth  ?  and  of  the  affections,  —  What  is  good  ? 
by  yielding  itself  passive  to  the  educated  Will.  Then 
shall  come  to  pass  what  my  poet  said :  "  Nature  is  not 
fixed  but  fluid.  Spirit  alters,  moulds,  makes  it.  The 
immobility  or  bruteness  of  nature,  is  the  absence  of 
spirit;  to  pure  spirit,  it  is  fluid,  it  is  volatile,  it  is  obe 
dient.  Every  spirit  builds  itself  a  house  ;  and  beyond  its 
house  a  world  ;  and  beyond  its  world  a  heaven.  Know 
then,  that  the  world  exists  for  you.  Tor  you  is  the  phe 
nomenon  perfect.  What  we  are,  that  only  can  we  see. 
All  that  Adam  had,  all  that  Csesar  could,  you  have  and 
can  do.  Adam  called  his  house,  heaven  and  earth  ; 
Csesar  called  his  house,  Rome ;  you  perhaps  call  yours, 
a  cobbler's  trade  ;  a  hundred  acres  of  ploughed  land  ;  or 
a  scholar's  garret.  Yet  line  for  line  and  point  for  point, 


PROSPECTS.  67 

your  dominion  is  as  great  as  theirs,  though  without  fino 
names.  Build,  therefore,  your  own  world.  As  fast  as 
you  conform  your  life  to  the  pure  idea  in  your  mind,  that 
will  unfold  its  great  proportions.  A  correspondent  revo 
lution  in  things  will  attend  the  influx  of  the  spirit.  So 
fast  will  disagreeable  appearances,  swine,  spiders,  snakes, 
pests,  mad-houses,  prisons,  enemies,  vanish  ;  they  are  tem 
porary  and  shall  be  no  more  seen.  The  sordor  and  filths 
of  nature,  the  sun  shall  dry  up,  and  the  wind  exhale.  As 
when  the  summer  comes  from  the  south,  the  snow-banks 
melt,  and  the  face  of  the  earth  becomes  green  before  it, 
so  shall  the  advancing  spirit  create  its  ornaments  along 
its  path,  and  carry  with  it  the  beauty  it  visits,  and  the 
song  which  enchants  it  ;  it  shall  draw  beautiful  faces, 
warm  hearts,  wise  discourse,  and  heroic  acts,  around  its 
way,  until  evil  is  no  more  seen.  The  kingdom  of  man 
over  nature,  which  cometh  not  with  observation,  —  a  do 
minion  such  as  now  is  beyond  his  dream  of  God,  —  he 
shall  enter  without  more  wonder  than  the  blind  man  feels 
who  is  gradually  restored  to  perfect  sight. 


THE  AMERICAN   SCHOLAR. 


AN  ORATION  DELIVERED  BEFORE  THE  PHI  BETA  KAPPA 
SOCIETY,  AT  CAMBRIDGE,  AUGUST  31,  1837. 


THE   AMEEICAN   SCHOLAR. 


MB,.  PRESIDENT  AND  GENTLEMEN  :  — 

I  greet  you  on  the  re-commencement  of  our  literar^ 
year.  Our  anniversary  is  one  of  hope,  and,  perhaps,  not 
enough  of  labor.  We  do  not  meet  for  games  of  strength 
or  skill,  for  the  recitation  of  histories,  tragedies,  and 
odes,  like  the  ancient  Greeks ;  for  parliaments  of  love 
and  poesy,  like  the  Troubadours ;  nor  for  the  advance 
ment  of  science,  like  our  contemporaries  in  the  British 
and  European  capitals.  Thus  far,  our  holiday  has  been 
simply  a  friendly  sign  of  the  survival  of  the  love  of  let 
ters  amongst  a  people  too  busy  to  give  to  letters  any 
more.  As  such,  it  is  precious  as  the  sign  of  an  inde 
structible  instinct.  Perhaps  the  time  is  already  come, 
when  it  ought  to  be,  and  will  be,  something  else ;  when- 
the  sluggard  intellect  of  this  continent  will  look  from 
under  its  iron  lids,  and  fill  the  postponed  expectation  of 
the  world  with  something  better  than  the  exertions>^f 
mechanical  skill.  Our  day  of  dependence,  our  long  apJ 
prenticeship  to  the  learning  of  other  lands,  draws  toal 
close.  The  millions,  that  around  us  are  rushing  into7 
life,  cannot  always  be  fed  on  the  sere  remains  of  foreign 
harvests.  Events,  actions,  arise,  that  must  be  sung,  that 
will  sing  themselves.  Who  can  doubt,  that  poetry  will 


72  THE    AMERICAN    SCHOLAR. 

revive  and  lead  in  a  new  age,  as  the  star  in  the  constella 
tion  Harp,  which  now  flames  in  our  zenith,  astronomers 
announce,  shall  one  day  be  the  pole-star  for  a  thousand 
years  ? 

In  this  hope,  I  accept  the  topic  which  not  only  usage, 
but  the  nature  of  our  association,  seem  to  prescribe  to 
this  day,  —  the  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR.  Year  by  year,  we 
come  up  hither  to  read  one  more  chapter  of  his  biogra 
phy.  Let  us  inquire  what  light  new  days  and  events 
have  thrown  on  his  character,  and  his  hopes. 

It  is  one  of  those  fables,  which,  out  of  an  unknown 
antiquity,  convey  an  unlooked-for  wisdom,  that  the  gods, 
in  the  beginning,  divided  Man  into  men,  that  he  might 
be  more  helpful  to  himself;  just  as  the  hand  was  divided 
into  fingers,  the  better  to  answer  its  end. 

The  old  fable  covers  a  doctrine  ever  new  and  sublime ; 
that  there  is  One  Man,  —  present  to  all  particular  men 
only  partially,  or  through  one  faculty;  and  that  you 
must  take  the  whole  society  to  find  the  whole  man. 
Ipan  is  not  a  farmer,  or  a  professor,  or  an  engineer,  but 
Ilie  is_all.  Man  is  priest,  and  scholar,  and  statesman,  and 
producer,  and  soldier.  In  the  divided  or  social  state, 
these  functions  are  parcelled  out  to  individuals,  each  of 
whom  aims  to  do  his  stint  of  the  joint  work,  wl^lst  each 
Bother  performs  his.  The  fable  implies,  that  the  mdi-1 
vidual,  to  possess  himself,  must  sometimes  return  froml 
•his  own  labor  to  embrace  all  the  other  laborers^  But 
unfortunately,  this  original  unit,  this  fountain  of  power, 
Las  been  so  distributed  to  multitudes,  has  been  so  mi 
nutely  subdivided  and  peddled  out,  that  it  is  spilled  into 
drops,  and  cannot  be  gathered.  The  state  of  society  is\ 


THE    AMERICAN    SCHOLAR.  73 

one  in  which  the  members  have  suffered  ampliation  from 
f.^pTf.mnl',  and  strut  about  so  many  walking  monsters,  — 
a  good  finger,  a  neck,  a  stomach,  an  elbow,  but  never  a 
man. 

Man  is  thus  metamorphosed  into  a  thing,  into  many 
things.  The  planf.ej^jyho  is  Man_senJ^ont-JntQ  the  field 
to  gather  food,  is  seldom  cheered  by  any  idea  of  the 
true  dignity  of  his  ministry.  He  sees  his  bushel  and 
EiTciirL,  Hlld  nothing  beyond,  and  sinks  into  the  farmer, 
inst.p.a.rj_nf  Ma.n  n^  thjgjgrm.  The  tradesman  scarcely 
ever  gives  an  ideal  worth  to  his  work,  but  is  ridden  by 
the  routine  of  his  craft,  and  the  soul  is  subject  to  dol 
lars.  The  priest  becomes  a  form ;  the  attorney,  a  statute- 
book  ;  the  mechanic,  a  machine ;  the  sailor,  a  rope  of  a 
ship. 

In^this  distribution  of  function^,  the  apholav  jq  the 
delegated  intellect.  In  the  right  state,  he  is  Man 
Thinking,  in  tiie  degenerate  State,  when  the  victim  of 
society,  Ire  tends  to  become- -a  mere  thinker,  or,  still 
worse,  the  parrot  of  other  men's  thinking. 

as  Ma*1  Thinking,  the  theorv_of 
his  office  is  contained.  Him  .Nat 
placid,  all  her  monitory  pictures  :  him 
him  the  future,  jpvjt.ps.  Is  not,  indeed,  every  man  a 
student,  and  do  not  all  things  exist  for  the  student's  be 
hoof?  And,  finally,  is  not  the  true  scholar  the  only  true 
master  ?  But  the  old  oracle  said  :  "  All  things  have  two 
handles  :  beware  of  the  wrong  one."  In  life,  too  often, 
the  scholar  errs  with  mankind  and  forfeits  his  privilege. 
Let  us  see  him  in  his  school,  and  consider  him  in  refer 
ence  to  the  main  influences  he  receives. 
4 


74  THE     AMERICAN    SCHOLAR. 

I.  The  first  in  time  and  the  first  in  importance  of^the 
influences  upon  the  jnmdjsjjiat  of  jnajrir^  Everyday, 
Unesun;  and,  after  sunset,  night  and  her  stars.  Ever 
the  winds  blow  ;  ever  the  grass  grows.  Every  day,  men 
and  women,  conversing,  beholding  and  beholden.  The 

snlml^i's   IIP   pF  all    r^pn    whom    f,]ijs    Spflptap1p.   mr>si  en- 

_gag£s.  He  must  settle  its  valuejnjiii^nind.  What  is 
nature  tolnm  ?  There  is  never  a  beginning,  there  is 
never  an  end,  to  the  inexplicable  continuity  of  this  web 
of  Godj'tfirnilwas  circular  poweTTBtLU'lmiiu:  into  itselT. 


ereiiit  resembles  his  own  spirit,  whose  beginning. 
whose  ending,  he  never  can  find^  —  so  entire,  so  bound- 
Icss.  Ear,  too,  as  her  splendors  shine,  system  on  system 
Tffiootirig  like  rays,  upward,  downward,  without  centre, 
without  circumference,  —  in  the  mass  and  in  the  particle, 
nature  hastens  to  render  account  of  herself  to  the  mind. 
Classification  begins.  To  the  young  mind,  everything  is 
individual,  stands  by  itself.  By  and  by,  it  finds  how  to 
join  two  things,  and  see  in  them  one  nature  ;  then  three, 
then  three  thousand  ;  and  so  tyrannized  over  by  its  own 
unifying  instinct,  it  goes  on  tying  things  together,  dimin 
ishing  anomalies,  discovering  roots  running  under  ground, 
whereby  contrary  and  remote  things  cohere,  and  flower 
out  from  one  stem.  It  presently  learns,  that,  since  the 
dawn  of  history,  there  has  been  a  constant  accumulation 
and  classifying  of  facts.  But  what,  is  nlas^ification^but 
the_£erceiying  that  these  objects  are,  not  .chaotic,  and  are 
h£vR.'S'Taw'wSch..is  also  a  law  of  the 


li  11  ma  r>  min^?  The  astronomer  discovers  that  geometry, 
a  pure  abstraction  of  the  human  mind,  is  the  measure  of 
planetary  motion.  The  chemist  finds  proportions  and 


THE     AMERICAN    SCHOLAR.  75 

intelligible  method  throughout  matter;  and  science  is 
nothing  but  the  finding  of  analogy,  identity  in  the  most 
remote  parts.  The  ambitious  soul  sits  down  before  each 
refractory  fact ;  one  after  another,  reduces  all  strange 
constitutions,  all  new  powers,  to  their  class  and  their  law, 
and  goes  on  forever  to  animate  the  last  fibre  of  organi 
zation,  the  outskirts  of  nature,  by  insight. 

Thus  to  him,  to  this  school-boy  under  the  bending 
dome  of  day,  is  suggested,  that  he  and  it  proceed  from 
one  root ;  one  is  leaf  and  one  is  flower ;  relation,  sym 
pathy,  stirring  in  every  vein.  And  what  is  tfha.t  TEnnt  ? 
Is  not  that  the  soul  of  his  soul  ?  —  A  thought  too  bold, 
—  a'dream  too  wild.  Yet  when  this  spiritual  lighfT shall 
have  revealed  the  law  of  more  earthly  natures,  —  when 
he  has  learned  to  worship  the  soul,  and  to  see  that  the 
natural  philosophy  that  now  is,  is  only  the  first  gropings 
of  its  gigantic  hand,  he  shall  look  forward  to  an  ever-ex 
panding  knowledge  as  to  a  becoming  creator.  He  shall 
see,  that  Tjat.nrp.  js  jjip  nppnaifr,  r»f  the  soul,  answering  to  it" 
part  for  part.  Oiie..is.sp-a1|  «"d  "IIP,  is  prij1*  Its  beauty 
is  the  beauty  of  his  own  mind.  Its  laws  are  the  laws  of 
his  own  mind,  lSFa.tnrp.  |,hpn  hp.pnmes  to  him  the  measure 
oFhis  attainments.  So  much  of  nature  as  he  is  igno 
rant  of,  so  much  of  his  own  mind  does  he  not  yetjaossess. 
And,  in  fine,  the  ancient  precept,  "  J^ntrtyHkky Q^I  f *  and 
the  modern  precept,  "  Study  nature/'  become  at  last  one 
maxim. 


76  THE    AMERICAN    SCHOLAR, 

inscribed.     Books  are  the  best  type  of  the  influence  of 

•7         -**•  . «*  vf  .,    ,  — » 

the_pastf-ftnd  perhap&jEe  shall  fiet  at  the  truth,  —  learn 
the  amount  ofthis  influence  more  conveniently,  —  by 
considering 

The  theory  of  books  is  nohla.  The  scholar  of  the 
first  age -received  into  him  the  world  around ;  brooded 
thereon ;  gave  it  the  new  arrangement  of  his  own  mind, 
and  utterejHt_agajn.  It  came  into  him,  life ;  it  went  out 
from  him,  truth.  It  came  to  him,  short-lived  actions ;  it 
went  out  from  him,  immortal  thoughts.  It  came  to  him, 
business  ;  it  went  from  him,  poetry.  It  was__dsad_^ct ; 
now,  it  is  quick  thought.  It  can  stand,  and  it  can  go. 
It"  now  endures,  it  now  flies,  it  now  inspires.  Precisely 
in  proportion  to  the  depth  of  mind  from  which  it  issued, 
so  high  does  it  soar,  so  long  does  it  sing. 

Or,  I  might  say,  it  depends  on  how  far  the  process,  had 
gone,  of  transmitting  liTeinto  truth.  In  prpportion _to 
the  completeness  of  the  distillation,  so  will  the  ^purity 
flf^,impm'nhnh1pii?M  'ifth*  f^i^t  fr»  But  none  is 
quite  perfect.  As  no  air-pump  can  by  any  means  make 
a  perfect  vacuum,  so  neither  can  any  artist  entirely  ex 
clude  the  conventional,  the  local,the  perishable  from  his 
book,  or  write  a  book,  of  pure  thought,  that  shaJL-he.  as 
efficient,  in  all  respects,  to  a  remote  posterity,  as  to-gon- 
tehrporaries^or  rnthpr  1iQ  thf  Sft™nd  frgp-  H^chae^e.  it  is 
foumi,  must  write  its  own  books ;  or,  rather,  each  gener 
ation  for ^hTlielcrsu^cTelTrig!^  The  books  of  an  older 
period  will  not  fit  this. 

Yet  hence  arises  a  grave  mischief.  The  sacredness 
which  attaches  to  the  act  of  creation  —  the  act  of 
thought  — is  transferred  to  the  record.  The  poet 


THE    AMERICAN     SCHOLAR.  77 

chanting,  was  felt  to  be  a  divine  man:  henceforth  the 
chant  is  divine  also.  The  writer  was  a  just  and  wise 
spirit  :  henceforward  it  is  settled,  the  book  is  perfect  ; 
as  love  of  the  hero  corrupts  into  worship  of  his  statue. 
Instantly,  the  book  becomes  noxious:  the  guide  is  a 
tyrant.  The  sluggish  and  perverted  mind  of  the  multi 
tude,  slow  trju^uju  le-4hg^Ln^ursions  ot'  ftftasnry  having 

'  so  "npftnftHj  having  once  received  this  book,  stands 
it.  arid  makes  auTfiifcry,  ifTris._disparagedT  Col- 
H.i'n.  IniiU  mi  Ttr"^^n]cs_airft  writtftTi  on  ilhy  think. 
ers,  not  by  Man  ThmTong;  by  men  of  talent,  that  is,  who  ^ 
"start  wroiigpwho  set  out  from  accepted  dogmas,  not  from 
their  own  sight  of  principles.  Meek  young  men  grow 
up  in  libraries,  believing  it  their  duty  to  accept  the  views 
which  Cicero,  which  Locke,  which  Bacon,  have  given, 
forgetful  that  Cicero,  Locke,  and  Bacon  were  only  young 
men  in  libraries,  when  they  wrote  these  books.  .  ___ 

Hence,  instead  of  Man  Thinking^  we..hay.e.jtlifi_  hook, 
_worm.  HenceTHieTiook-learned  class,  who  value  book% 
assuch  ;  not  as  related  to  nature  and  the  human  consti. 
tution,  but  as  making  a  sort  of  Third  Estate  with  the 
world  and  the  soul.  Hence,  the  restorers  of  readings, 
the  emendators,  the  bibliomaniacs  of  all  degrees. 

Books  are  the  best  of  tjnngs^   wpll   muxi^-   abused, 
the  worst.     What  is  the  riht  use  ?     What  is  the 


one  end,  whichall  means  go  to  effect?  They  are  for 
nothing  but  to  inspire.  I  had  better  never  see  a  book, 
than  to  be  warped  by  its  attraction  clean  out  of  my  own 
orbit,  and  made  a  satellite  instead  of  a  system.  The  one 
thing  in  the  world,  of  value,  is  the  active  sou],  Tins 
eVmji  iiuiris~entitled  to  ;  this  every  man  contains  within 


78  THE    AMERICAN    SCHOLAR. 

him,  although,  in  almost  all  men,  obstructed,  and  as  yet 
unborn.     The  ^"1  apt1'^  CQQCi  afapliitp.  truth  •  and  utters 
trjajji^jiL-Iiieak^.     In  this_  action  it^Js  genius  ;  not  the  AI 
p  rivWp  pf  frprg  qnd  tlTfirea   favorite^  but    the"sound_jL, 
Tn  its  essence,  it  isp  regressive  . 


The  bqnk^  the  nollege.  the  snlmnl  of  grt,  the  institution 


of  any   killd^    stop   -naili    nnm«»^pa«4   nttpran^    nf-gpeiuns 

This  is  good,  say  they,  —  let  us  hold  by  this.     They  pin 
me  down.     They  look  backward  and  not  forward.    JBut 


the  eyes  of  man  are  set  in  his 
forehead,  not  in  his  hindhead  ;  man  hopes  ;  genius  cre 
ates.  Whatever  talents  may  be,  if 


inr  r>f  the  Deity  is  not  his  ;  cinders  and  smoke 
there  may  be,  but  not  yet  flame.  There  are  creative 
manners,  there  are  creative  actions  and  creative  words  ; 
manners,  actions,  words,  that  is,  indicative  of  no  custom 
or  authority,  but  springing  spontaneous  from  the  mind's 
own  sense  of  good  and  fair. 

On  the  other  part,  instead  of  being  its  own  seer,  let  it 
receive  from  another  mind  its  truth,  though  it  were  in 
torrents  of  light,  without  periods  of  solitude,  inquest, 
and  self-recovery,  and  a  fatal  disservice  is  done.  Genius 
is  always  sufficiently  the  enemy  of  gen  hi  n  by  fWTriin.flii 
e*iice.  The  literature  of  every  nation  bear  me  witness. 
TTieTTJlnglish  dramatic  poets  have  Shakspearized  now  for 
two  hundred  years. 

Undoubtedly  there  is  a  right  way  of  reading,  so  it  be 
sternly  subordinated.     Man  Thinking  must  not  be  sub-  \i 
dned  by  hjs  instruments  ^  Tlnnk^  arfOor  thejscholar'sTy 
idle  times.     Wheji^Jie^jiatt--j£ad_God^(directly»  the  hour 
is  too  precious  to  be  wasted  in  other  men's  transcripts 


THE    AMERICAN    SCHOLAR.  79 

of  their  readings.  But  when  the  intervals  of  darkness 
come,  as  come  they  must,  —  when  the  sun  is  hid,  and  the 
stars  withdraw  their  shining,  —  we  repair  to  tlie^lainjjs 
which  were  kindled  by  their  rnjx  H_j2iidp  rrni*  ntppi  to 

We  hear,  that  we 
may  speak.  The  Arabian  proverb  says,  "A  fig-tree, 
looking  on  a  fig-tree,  be-"ometh  fruitful." 

It  is  remarkable,  the  character  of  the  pleasure  we 
derive  from  the  best  bcoks.  They  impress  us  with  the 
conviction,  that  one  nature  wrote,  and  the  same  reads. 
We  read  the  verses  of  me  of  the  great  English  poets, 
of  Chaucer,  of  Marvell,  r»f  Dryden,  with  the  most  mod 
ern  joy, — with  a  pleasure,  I  mean,  which  is  in  great 
part  caused  by  the  abstraction  of  all  time  from  their 
verses.  There  is  some  awe  mixed  with  the  joy  of  our 
surprise,  when  this  poet,  who  lived  in  some  past  world, 
two  or  three  hundred  years  ago,  says  that  which  lies 
close  to  my  own  soul,  that  which  I  also  had  wellnigh 
thought  and  said.  But  /or  tne  evidence  thence  afforded 
to  the  philosophical  doctrine  of  the  identity  of  all  minds, 
we  should  suppose  some  pre-established  harmony,  some 
foresight  of  souls  that  were  to  be,  and  some  preparation 
of  stores  for  their  future  v  ants,  like  the  fact  observed  in 
insects,  who  lay  up  food  before  death  for  the  young  grub 
they  shall  never  see. 

I  would  not  be  hurried  f  jy  any  love  of  system,  by  any 
exaggeration  of  instincts,  to  underrate  the  Book.  We  all 
know,  that,  as  the  human  l»jdy  can  be  nourished  on  any 
food,  though  it  were  boiled  grass  and  the  broth  of  shoes, 
so  the  human  mind  can  be  fed  by  any  fyiowledge.  And 
great  and  heroic  men  have,  existed,  who  had  almost  no 


80       THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR. 

other  information  than  by  the  printed  page.  I  only 
would  say,  that  it  needs  a  strong  head  to  bear  that  diet. 
Ope  must  he  anJnvej^QrjQ_iea,(Lffi£ll.  As  the  proverb 
says,  "  He  that  would  bring  home  the  wealth  of  the 
Indies,  must  carry  out  the  wealth  of  the  Indies."  There 
is  then  fr^jvP.  r^ing  aa  vfi]l  as  nrp.fljjvft  writing. 
When  the  mind  is  braced,  by  labor  and  invention,  the 
pajgcT  ofjyfiatflYfir  bon1f  WP  JgaO  ..becomes  luminous  with 
manifold  allusion.  Every  sentence  is  doubly  significant, 
and  the  sense  of  our  author  is  as  broad  as  the  world. 
We  then  see,  what  is  always  orue,  that,  as  the  seer's 
hour  of  vision  is  short  and  rar«  among  heavy  days  and 
months,  so  is  its  record,  perchance,  the  least  part  of 
his  volume.  The  discerning  will  read,  in  his  Plato  or 
Shakspeare,  only  that  least  pa'-t,  —  only  the  authentic 
utterances  of  the  oracle ;  all  the  rest  he  rejects,  were  it 
never  so  many  times  Plato's  and  fihakspeare's. 

Of  course,  there  is  a  portion  oV  reading  quite  indispen 
sable  to  a  wise  man.  History  a' id  exact  science  he  must 
learn  by  laborious  reading.  Colleges,  in  like  manner, 
have  their  indispensable  office.,  — -•  to  teach  elements. 
But  they  canjjnly  -highly  serve  us,  when  they  aim  not  to 
drill,  but  to  create ;  when  the;  gather  from  far  every  ray 
of  various  genius  to  their  hospitable  halls,  and,  by  the 
concentrated  fires,  set  the  hearts  of  their  youth  on  flame. 
Thought  and  knowledge  are  L -attires  in  which  apparatus 
and  pretension  avail  nothing.  Gowns,  and  pecuniary 
foundations,  though  of  towns- .;of  gold,  can  never  counter 
vail  the  least  sentence  or  syllable  of  wit.  Forget  this, 
and  our  American  colleges  will  recede  in  their  public 
importance,  whilst  they  grow  richer  every  year. 


THE    AMERICAN    SCHOLAR.  81 


III.  There  goes  in  the  wojrikj_ji_jQi}j^n^  ,.that_  the 
scholar  should  be  a  recluse,  a  valetudinarian,  —  as  unfit 
for  any  handiwork  or  public  labor,  as  a  penknife  for  an 
axe.  The  so-called  "  practical  men  "  sneer  at  speculative 

TVIOTI|    QC    if,   KananaP    fliPj   ppP^ukte    Or    Sgg,   tilCY  COU^l    do 

qnthmgir  I  have  heard  it  said  that  the  clergy  —  who 
are  always,  more  universally  than  any  other  class,  the 
scholars  of  their  day  —  are  addressed  as  women;  that 
the  rough,  spontaneous  conversation  of  men  they  do 
not  hear,  but  only  a  mincing  and  diluted  speech.  They 
are  often  virtually  disfranchised  ;  and,  indeed,  there  are 
advocates  for  their  celibacy.  As  far  as  this  is  true  of 
the  studious  classes,  it  is  not  just  and  wise.  Action  is 
with  the  scholar  subordinate,  but  it  is  essential.  With 
out  it,  he  is  not  yet  man.  Without  it,  thought  can  never 
ripen  into  truth.  Whilst  the  world  hangs  before  the  eye 
as  a  cloud  of  beauty,  we  cannot  even  see  its  beauty. 
Inaction  is  cowardice,  but  there  can  be  no  scholar  with 
out  the  heroic  mind.  The  preamble  of  thought,  the 
transition  through  which  it  passes  from  the  unconscious 
to  the  conscious,  is  action.  Only  so  much  do  I  know, 
as  I  have  lived.  Instantly  we  know  whose  words  are 
loaded  with  life,  and  whose  not. 

The  world  —  this  shadow  of  the  soul,  or  other 
lies  wide  around.  Its^^attracjtiausuare  the 
unlock  my  thoughts  and  make  me  acquainted  with  myself. 
I  run  eagerly  into  this  resounding  ^JMnlf,,  J  grasp  the 
hands  of  those  next  me,  and  take  my  place  in  the  ring  to 
suffer  and  to  work,  taught  by  an  instinct,  that  so  shall 
the  dumb  abyss  be  vocal  with  speech.  I  pierce  its 
order;  I  dissipate  its  fear;  I  dispose  of  it  within  the 

4*  F 

tw<i  *****  *-.-r  ^ 

J0{>" 


THE    AMERICAN    SCHOLAR. 


circuit  of  my  expanding  life.     So_mucli  pnly  r>f 


I  know  by  experience,  so  much  of  the  wilderness  have  I 
vanquished  and  planted,  or  so  iar  haV^  I  BxEencted  my 
being,  my  dominion.  I  do  not  see  hojL-any  moH— ean 
afford,  for  the  sake  of  his  nerves  and  his  napj.Jto  spare 
Tn  winch  he  can  partake.  It  is  pearls  arrtl 


tion,  want,  are   instructors   in   eloquence   and  wisdom. 
The   true  scholar  grud 
past  by,  as  a  loss  of  power.     It  is  the  rawmaterial  ou 
of  which  the  intellect  moulds  her  splendidproducts.     A 
rrrrm-r  prnrrjjfi  ton.   Ihi     lij    uliidi  nrpnrifnrrTi  TTin 
verted  mtothought,  as  a  mulberry  leaf  is  converted  into 
saluT. ' '  The  iiiaiillfUeLure  goes  forward  at  all  hours. 

The  actions  and  events  of  our  childhood  and  youth  are 
now  matters  of  calmest  observation.  They  lie  like  fair 
pictures  in  the  air.  Not  so  with  our  recent  actions,  — 
with  the  business  which  we  now  have  in  hand.  On  this 
we  are  quite  unable  to  speculate.  Our  affections  as  yet 
circulate  through  it.  We  no  more  feel  or  know  it,  than 
we  feel  the  feet,  or  the  hand,  or  the  brain  of  our  body. 
The  new  deed  is  yet  a  part  of  life,  —  remains  for  a  time 
immersed  in  our  unconscious  life.  In  some  contempla 
tive  hour,  it  detaches  itself  from  the  life  like  a  ripe  fruit, 
to  become  a  thought  of  the  mind.  Instantly,  it  is  raised, 
transfigured;  the  corruptible  has  put  on  incorruption. 
Henceforth  it  is  an  object  of  beauty,  however  base  its 
origin  and  neighborhood.  Observe,  too,  the  impossibility 
of  antedating  this  act.  In  its  grub  state,  it  cannot  fly,  it 
cannot  shine,  it  is  a  dull  grub.  But  suddenly,  without 
observation,  the  selfsame  thing  unfurls  beautiful  wings, 


THE    AMERICAN    SCHOLAR. 


83 


and  is  an  angel  of  wisdom.  So  is  there  no  fact,  no  event, 
in  our  private  history,  whip.h  sfrall  noT;  sooner  or  later, 
lose  its  adhesive,  inert  form,  and  astonish  us  hy  snaring 
from  our  body  into  the  empyrean.  Cradle  and  infancy, 
school  and  play-ground,  the  tear  of  boys,  and  dogs,  and 
ferules,  the  love  of  little  maids  and  berries,  and  many 
another  fact  that  once  filled  the  whole  sky,  are  gone 
already ;  friend  and  relative,  profession  and  party,  town 
and  country,  nation  and  world,  must  also  soar  and  sing. 

Of  course,  he  who  has  put  forth  his  total  strength  in 
fit  actions  has  the  richest  return  of  wisdom.  I  will  not 
shut  myself  out  of  this  globe  of  action,  and  transplant 
an  oak  into  a  flower-pot,  there  to  hunger  and  pine ;  nor 
trust  the  revenue  of  some  single  faculty,  and  exhaust  one 
vein  of  thought,  much  like  those  Savoyards,  who,  get 
ting  their  livelihood  by  carving  shepherds,  shepherdesses, 
and  smoking  Dutchmen,  for  all  Europe,  went  out  one  day 
to  the  mountain  to  find  stock,  and  discovered  that  they 
had  whittled  up  the  last  of  their  pine-trees.  Authors 
we  have,  in  numbers,  who  have  written  out  their  vein, 
and  who,  moved  by  a  commendable  prudence,  sail  for 
Greece  or  Palestine,  follow  the  trapper  into  the  prairie, 
or  ramble  round  Algiers,  to  replenish  their  merchantable 
stock. 

If  it  were  only  for  a  vocabulary,  the  scholar  would  be 
covetous  of  action,  jjife  is  our  dictionary.  Yearsare^ 
well  spent  in  country  labo 

TPS  and  manufactures  ;   in   frajlfc  intp.rnnmsa,  with 
in  science ;  in  art ;  to  the  one 
jich 
ly  our  perceptions.     I  learn  imme- 


84  THE    AMERICAN    SCHOLAR. 

diately  from  any  speaker  Low  much  he  has  already  lived, 
through  the  poverty  or  the  splendor  of  his  speech.  Life 
lies  behind  us  as  the  quarry  from  whence  we  get  tiles  and 
cope-stones  for  the  masonry  of  to-day.  This  is  the  way 
to  learn  grammar.  Colleges  and  books  only  copy  the 
language  which  the  field  and  the  work-yard  made. 

But  the  fjnal  Yfllm*  qf  pftifvn,  like  that  of  books,  and 
better  than  books,  is,  that  it  is  a  resource.  That  great 
principle  of  Undulation  in  nature,  that  shows  itself  in  the 
inspiring  and  expiring  of  the  breath ;  in  desire  and  sa 
tiety  ;  in  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  sea ;  in  day  and  night ; 
in  heat  and  cold ;  and  as  yet  more  deeply  ingrained  in 
every  atom  and  every  fluid,  is  known  to  us  under  the 
name  of  Polarity,  — these  "  fits  of  easy  transmission  and 
reflection,"  as  Newton  called  them,  are  the  law  of  na 
ture  because  they  are  the  law  of  spirit. 

The  mind  now__thi)j1n  \  now  nrtn ;  anf*  panl1  fif  ™>pyo- 
duces  the  otlierT  When  the  artist  has  exbanstfid  HJR  ma- 
tefedsrwireii  the  fancy  no  longer  jmmts,  when  thoughts 
areTTo  longer  apprehended,  and  books_are_a-SEfiariness,  — 
he  has  always  UuTresource  to  live.  Character  is  higher 
than  intellect.  Thinking  is  the  function  1  Tiving  i>  thp 
functionary^  The  stream  retreats  to  its  source.  A  great 
soul  will  be  strong  to  live,  as  well  as  strong  to  think. 
Does  he  lack  organ  or  medium  to  impart  his  truths  ? 
He  can  still  fall  back  on  this  elemental  force  of  living 
them.  This  is  a  total  act.  Thinking  is  a  partial  act. 
Let  the  grandeur  of  justice  shine  in  his  affairs.  Let  the 
beauty  of  affection  cheer  his  lowly  roof.  Those  "far 
from  fame,"  who  dwell  and  act  with  him,  will  feel  the 
force  of  his  constitution  in  the  doings  and  passages  of 


AMERICAN     SCHOLAR.  85 

the  day  better  than  it  can  be  measured  by  any  public  and 
designed  display.  Time  shall  teach  him  that  the  scholar 
loses  no  hour  which  the  man  lives.  Herein  he  unfolds 
the  sacred  germ  of  his  instinct,  screened  from  influence. 
What  is  lost  in  seemliness  is  gained  in  strength.  Not 
out  of  those,  on  whom  systems  of  education  have  ex 
hausted  their  culture,  comes  the  helpful  giant  to  destroy 
the  old  or  to  build  the  new,  but  out  of  unhaudselled  sav 
age  nature,  out  of  terrible  Druids  and  Berserkirs,  come  at 
last  Alfred  and  Shakspeare. 

I  hear  therefore  with  j^y  ^w^or.  ja  Tipgi'n^j^g fr>  be 
said  of  fhRjjiomity  and  nenfissity  of  labor  to  every  citizen, 
in  thr  hnr  mrl  thr  npndnj  fnr  Irirnqj, 


as  well  as  for  unlearned  bands.  And  labor  is  everywhere 
welcome ;  always  we  are  invited  to  work  ;  only  be  this 
limitation  observed,  that  a  man  shall  not  for  the  sake  of 
wider  activity  sacrifice  any  opinion  to  the  popular  judg 
ments  and  modes  of  action. 

I  have  now  spoken  of  the  education  of  the  scholar  by 
nature,  by  fjo'oks,  and  by  action.    It  remains  to  say  some- 

what  of  his  duties. 

Thex^vn  minh  m  bpf»nrr|f^JVra.n  Thinking  They  may 
all  be  compriflefl  in  gplf.tyigf  The  o 
is  to  cheer,  to  raise,  and  to  guide  men  by  showing  them 
facts  amTcfst  appearances.  He  plies  the  slow,  unhon- 
orod,  and  unpaid  task  of  observation.  Flamsteed  and 
Herschel,  in  their  glazed  observatories,  may  catalogue 
the  stars  with  the  praise  of  all  men,  and,  the  results 
being  splendid  and  useful,  honor  is  sure.  But  he,  in  his 
private  observatory,  cataloguing  obscure  and  nebulous 


86  THE    AMERICAN     SCHOLAR. 

stars  of  the  human  mind,  which  as  yet  no  man  has 
ihougfit  of  as  such,  —  watching  days  and  months,  some 
times,  for  a  few  facts  ;  correcting  still  his  old  records,  — 
must  relinquish  display  and  immediate  fame.  In  the 
long  period  of  his  preparation,  he  must  betray  often  an 
ignorance  and  shiftlessness  in  popular  arts,  incurring  the 
disdain  of  the  able  who  shoulder  him  aside.  Long  he 
must  stammer  in  his  speech  ;  often  forego  the  living  for 
the  dead.  Worse  yet,  hejnust  accept  how  often  !  — 
poverty  ar|d  snlityrlp.  "For  the  ease  and  pleasure  of 
treading  the  old  road,  accepting  the  fashions,  theed  u  ca- 
tion.  the  religion  of  society  he  takes  thp  r».rn«^_pf  mak 
ing  bis  own,  and,  of  course,  the  self-accusation,  the  faint 
heart,  J;he  frequent  ^Tiflprtamtv  and  loss  of  time,  wiiich 
are  the  nettles  and  tangling  vines  in  the  way  of  the  self- 
relying  and  self-directed;  and  the  state  of  virtual  hos 
tility  in  which  he  seems  to  stand  to  society,  and  espe 
cially  to  educated  society.  For  all  this  loss  and  scorn, 
what  offset  ?  He  is  to  find  consolation  in  exercising  the 

He  Is  "onewho 


_ 

raises  himself  from  private  considerations,  and  breathes 
and  lives  on  public  and  illustrious  thoughts.  He  isthe 
world's  eye.  He  is  the  world's  Heart.  He  is  to  resist 
the1  vulgar  prosperity  that  retrogrades  ever  to  barbarism, 
by  preserving  and  communicating  heroic  sentiments, 
uoble  biographies,  melodious  verse,  and  the  conclusions 
of  history.  Whatsoever  oracles  the  human  heart,  in 
all  emergencies,  in  all  solemn  hours,  has  uttered  as  its 
commentary  on  the  world  of  actions,  —  these  he  shall 
receive  and  impart.  And  whatsoever  new  vj 
son  from  her  inviolable  seat  pronounces  or 


THE    AMERICAN     SCHOLAR. 


87 


men  and  events_o£  to-day.  —  this  he  shall  hear  and  pro 
mulgate. 

These  being  his  functions,  it  becomes  him  to  feel  all 
confidence  in  himself,  and  to  defer  never  to  the  popular 
cry.  He  and  he  rmlvkrinws  the  world.  The  world  jpf 
any  moment  is  the  meresLamifiajance.  Some  great  deco 
rum,  some  fetish  of  a  gf/vernment,  some  ephemeral  trade, 
or  war,  or  man,  is  cried  up  by  half  mankind  and  cried 
down  by  the  other  half,  as  if  all  depended  on  this  partic 
ular  up  or  down.  The  odds  are  that  the  whole  question 
is  not  worth  the  poorest  thought  which  the  scholar  has 
lost  in  listening  to  the  controversy.  Let  him  not  quit  his 
belief  that  a  popgun  is  a  popgun,  though  the  ancient  and 
honorable  of  the  earth  affirm  it  to  be  the  crack  of  doom. 
In  silence,  in  steadiness,  in  severe  abstraction,  let  him 
hold  by  himself;  add  observation  to  observation,  patient 
of  neglect,  patient  of  reproach ;  and  bide  his  own  time,  — 
happy  enough,  if  he  can  satisfy  himself  alone,  that  this 
day  he  has  seen  something  truly.  Success  treads  on 
every  right  step.  For  the  instinct  is  sure,  that  prompts 
him  to  tell  his  brother  what  he  thinks.  He  then  learns, 
that  in  going  down  into  the  secrets  of  his  own  mind,  he 
has  descended  into  the  secrets  of  all  minds.  He  learns 
that  he  who  has  mastered  any  law  in  his  private  thoughts 
is  master  to  that  extent  of  all  men  whose  language  he 
speaks,  and  of  all  into  whose  language  his  own  can  be 
translated.  XliH*^^>*UUiitersolitude  remembering,  his 
^njiiiiiiMiii  HIM  ihiiu^hts  andiecuidlll^  tllttin,  isTound  to 

juties  find  true 

for  th^mjilsg^Che  orator_distrusts  at  firsTthe  fitness  of 
"his  frank  confessions,  —  his  want  bPEnowIeTTge  of  the 


55  THE     AMERICAN    SCHOLAR. 

persons  he  addresses,  —until  he  fir^ts  th^  ]}*  is  *V  nn™. 
plement  of  his  hearers ;  that  they  drink  his  words  because 
lie  fulfils  lor  theTn  "ttieir  own  nature  ;  the  deeper  he  dives 
into  his  privatest,  secretest  presentiment,  to  his  wonder 
he  finds,  this  is  the  most  acceptable,  most  public,  and 
universally  true.  The  people  delight  in  it;  the  better 
part  of  every  man  feels,  This  is  my  music ;  this  is  my 
self. 

Ii^-SfJl-kilfilL^lI.  the  virtues  jTe^cojnprehended.  Frge 
should  the  scholar  be,  —  free  and  braie.  Free  even  to 
the  definition  of  freedom,  "without  any  hindrance  that 
does  not  arise  out  of  his  own  constitution."  Brave  ;  for 
fear  is  a  thing  which  a  scholar  by  his  very  function  puts 
behind  him,  Eear  always  springs  from  ignorance.  It  is 
a  shame  to  him^ii^hls'trscnquillity,  amid  dangerous  times, 
arise  from  the  presumption,  that,  like  children  and  wo 
men,  his  is  a  protected  class ;  or  if  he  seek  a  temporary 
peace  by  the  diversion  of  his  thoughts  from  politics  or 
vexed  questions,  hiding  his  head  like  an  ostrich  in  the 
flowering  bushes,  peeping  into  microscopes,  and  turning 
rhymes,  as  a  boy  whistles  to  keep  his  courage  up.  So  is 
the  danger  a  danger  still ;  so  is  the  fear  worse.  Manlike 
let  him  turn  and  face  it.  Let  him  look  into  its  eye  arid 
search  its  nature,  inspect  its  origin,  —  see  the  whelping 
of  this  lion,  —  which  lies  no  great  way  back ;  he  will 
then  find  in  himself  a  perfect  comprehension  of  its  nature 
and  extent;  he  will  have  made  his  hands  meet  on  the 
other  side,  and  can  henceforth  defy  it,  and  pass  on  su 
perior.  The  world  is  his,  who  can  see  through  its  pre 
tension.  What  deafness,  what  stone-blind  custom,  what 
overgrown  error  you  behold,  is  there  only  by  sufferance. 


THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR.       89 

—  by  your  sufferance.  See  it  to  be  a  lie,  and  you  have 
already  dealt  it  its  mortal  blow. 

Yes,  we  are  the  cowed,  —  we  the  trustless.  It  is  a 
mischievous  notion  that  we  are  come  late  into  nature ; 
that  the  world  was  finished  a  long  time  ago.  As  the 
world  was  plastic  and  fluid  in  the  hands  of  God,  so  it  is 
ever  to  so  much  of  his  attributes  as  we  bring  to  it.  To 
ignorance  and  sin,  it  is  flint.  They  adapt  themselves  to 
it  as  they  may ;  but  in  proportion  as  a  man  has  anything 
in  him  divine,  the  firmament  flows  before  him  and  takes 
his  signet  and  form.  Not  he  is  great  who  can  alter  mat 
ter,  but  he  who  can  alter  my  state  of  mind.  They  are 
the  kings  of  the  world  who  give  the  color  of  their  present 
thought  to  all  nature  and  all  art,  and  persuade  men  by 
the  cheerful  serenity  of  their  carrying  the  matter,  that 
this  thing  which  they  do,  is  the  apple  which  the  ages 
have  desired  to  pluck,  now  at  last  ripe,  and  inviting  na 
tions  to  the  harvest.  The  great  man  makes  the  great 
thing.  Wherever  Macdonald  sits,  there  is  the  head  of 
the  table.  Linnaeus  makes  botany  the  most  alluring  of. 
studies,  and  wins  it  from  the  farmer  and  the  herb-wo 
man  ;  Davy,  chemistry ;  and  Cuvier,  fossils.  The  day  is 
always  his,  who  works  in  it  with  serenity  and  great  aims. 
The  unstable  estimates  of  men  crowd  to  him  whose  mind 
is  filled  with  a  truth,  as  the  heaped  waves  of  the  Atlantic 
follow  the  moon. 

For  this  self-trust,  the  reason  is  deeper  than  can  be 
fathomed,  —  darker  than  can  be  enlightened.  I  might 
not  carry  with  me  the  feeling  of  my  audience  in  stating 
my  own  belief.  But  I  have  already  shown  the  ground  of 
my  hope,  in  adverting  to  the  doctrine  that  man  is  one. 


90  THE    AMERICAN    SCHOLAE. 

I  believe  man  has  been  wronged  ;  he  has  wronged  him 
self.  He  has  almost  lost  the  light,  that  can  lead  him 
back  to  his  prerogatives.  Men  are  become  of  no  account. 
Men  in  history,  men  in  the  world  of  to-day  are  bugs,  are 
spawn,  and  are  called  "  the  mass  "  and  "  the  herd."  In 
a  century,  in  a  millennium,  one  or  two  men  ;  that  is  to 
say,  —  one  or  two  approximations  to  the  right  state  of 
every  man.  All  the  rest  behold  in  the  hero  or  the  poet 
their  own  green  and  crude  being,  —  ripened  ;  yes,  and 
are  content  to  be  less,  so  that  may  attain  to  its  full  stat 
ure.  What  a  testimony,  —  full  of  grandeur,  full  of  pity, 
is  borne  to  the  demands  of  his  own  nature,  by  the  poor 
clansman,  the  poor  partisan,  who  rejoices  in  the  glory  of 
his  chief.  The  poor  and  the  low  find  some  amends  to 
their  immense  moral  capacity,  for  their  acquiescence  in  a 
political  and  social  inferiority.  TVjiarp  p"ntnnt  t*  be 

frnm  f|)f»  paf^  nf?T  frrpat  person,  sn  that 


justice  shall  be  done  by  him  to  that  common  nature  which 
dfnrpfit  fjftm'rp  of  all  tn  spp  ^^r^  and  glorified. 


They  sun  themselves  in  the  great  man's  light,  and  feel  it 
to  be  their  own  element.  They  cast  ilie  dignity  of  man 
from  their  down-trod  selves  upon  the  shoulders  of  a  hero, 
and  will  perish  to  add  one  drop  of  blood  to  make  that 
great  heart  beat,  those  giant  sinews  combat  and  conquer. 
He  lives  for  us,  and  we  live  in  him. 

Men  such  as  they  are,  very  naturally  seek  money  or 
power  ;  and  power  because  it  is  as  good  as  money,  —  the 
"  spoils,"  so  called,  "  of  office."  And  why  not  ?  for  they 
aspire  to  the  highest,  and  this,  in  their  sleep-walking, 
they  dream  is  highest.  Wake  them,  and  they  shall  quit 
the  false  good,  and  leap  to  the  true,  and  leave  govern- 


THE     AMERICAN     SCHOLAR.  91 

ments  to  clerks  and  desks.  This  revolution  is  to  be 
wrought  by  the  gradual  domestication  of  the  idea  of  Cul 
ture.  The  nmin__enterprise  of  the  world_for •  splendo^  for 
extent,  isjj^  iiplvmTflmfl  nt  n^nr-jn  Here  are  the  mate 
rials  strown  along  the  ground.  The  private  life  of  one 
man  shall  be  a  more  illustrious  monarchy,  —  more  formi 
dable  to  its  enemy,  more  sweet  and  serene  in  its  influence 
to  its  friend,  than  any  kingdom  in  history.  For  a  man, 
rightly  viewed,  comprehendeth  the  particular  natures  of 
all  men.  Each  philosopher,  each  bard,  each  actor,  has 
only  done  for  me,  as  by  a  delegate,  what  one  day  I  can 
do  for  myself.  The  books  which  once  we  valued  more 
than  the  apple  of  the  eye,  we  have  quite  exhausted. 
What  is  that  but  saying,  that  we  have  come  up  with  the 
point  of  view  which  the  universal  mind  took  through  the 
eyes  of  one  scribe ;  we  have  been  that  man,  and  have 
passed  on.  First,  one  ;  then,  another  ;  we  drain  all  cis 
terns,  and,  waxing  greater  by  all  these  supplies,  we  crave 
a  better  and  more  abundant  food.  The  man  has  never 
lived  that  can  feed  us  ever.  The  human  mind  cannot  be 
enshrined  in  a  person,  who  shall  set  a  barrier  on  any  one 
side  to  this  unbounded,  unboundable  empire.  It  is  one 
central  fire,  which,  flaming  now  out  of  the  lips  of  Etna, 
lightens  the  capes  of  Sicily  ;  and,  now  out  of  the  throat 
of  Vesuvius,  illuminates  the  towers  and  vineyards  of  Na 
ples.  It  is  one  light  which  beams  out  of  a  thousand  stars. 
It  is  one  soul  which  animates  all  men. 

But  I  have  dwelt  perhaps  tediously  upon  this  abstrac 
tion  of  the  Scholar.  I  ought  not  to  delay  longer  to  add 
what  I  have  to  say,  of  nearer  reference  to  the  time  and  to 
this  country. 


92  THE    AMERICAN    SCHOLAR. 

Historically,  there  is  thought  to  be  a  difference  in  the 
ideas  which  predominate  over  successive  epochs,  and 
there  are  data  for  marking  the  genius  of  the  Classic,  of 
the  Romantic,  and  now  of  the  Reflective  or  Philosophical 
age.  With  the  views  I  have  intimated  of  the  oneness  or 
the  identity  of  the  mind  through  all  individuals,  I  do  not 
much  dwell  on  these  differences.  In  fact,  I  believe  each 
individual  passes  through  all  three.  The  boy  is  a  Greek ; 
the  youth,  romantic;  the  adult,  reflective.  I  deny  not, 
however,  that  a  revolution  in  the  leading  idea  may  be 
distinctly  enough  traced. 

^Ui*  flu**  *g  ^"^y^ilprl  ^s  thfi  a(TR  of  Introversion.  Must 
that  needs  fy»  p.vil  ?  _  We,it  seems,  are  critical ;  wlT'are 

gjmJ2fl|]TpCCgrl   wi'fli    nn.nind    tln^nnrl.tg  .    We    CaiUlOt  CHJOy  aiiy- 

thing  for  hankering  to  know  whereoLihp^^Qfl¥1TJ^nrm- 
sistsj  we  are  lined  with  eyes  ;  we  see  with  our  feet ;  the 
time  is  infected  with  Hamlet's  unhappiness,  — 

"  Sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought." 

Is  it  so  bad  then  ?  Sight  is  the  last  thing  to  be  pitied. 
Would  we  be  blind  ?  Do  we  fear  lest  we  should  outsee 
nature  and  God,  and  drink  truth  dry  ?  I  look  uponjbe 
discontent  of  the  literary  class,  as  a  mere  announcement 
of  the  fact,  that  they  Hud  themselves  not  in  the  state  of 
mindof  their  fithprij  nndirgrpli  th»  flpmivg  fT?7^  ii"- 
tftecQ  as  a  boy  dreads  the  water  before  he  has  learned 
that  he  can  swim.  If  there  is  any  period  one  would  de 
sire  to  be  born  in,  —  is  it  not  the  age  of  "Revolution ; 
when  the  old  and  the  new  stand  side  by  si3ej"ancj,  admit 
of  being  compared ;  when  the  energies  of  all  men  are 
searched  by  fear  and  by  hope ;  when  the  historic  glories 


THE    AMERICAN    SCHOLAR. 


93 


of  the  old  can  be  compensated  by  the  rich  possibilities  of 
the  new  era  ?  This  time,  like  all  times,  is  a  very  good 
one,  if  we  but  know  what  to  do  with  it. 

I  read  with  joy  some  of  the  auspicious  signs  of  the 
coming  days,  as  they  glimmer  already  through  poetry  and 
art,  through  philosophy  and  science,  through  church  and 
state. 

One  of  these  signs  is  the  fact,  that  the  same  movernent 
which  effected  the  elevation  of  what  was 


class  in  the  state  assumed  in  literature  a  very  marked  and 
as  benign  an  aspect.     Inslyad  oT'tlie  sublime  and  beauti- 

poetized.  Tha^which  had  been  negligently  trodden 
under  root  by  those  who,  werejiarnessirig  andjyro.  ffjsioningr 
themselves  for  long  journeys  into  far  countries,  is...  .sud 
denly^  found  lobe  richer  than  all  foreign  parts.  The  lit-^ 
erature-of-  ih  e  "prior 


feelings__pj 
phy  of  the  street,  the  meaning  of. 


the  rjhiloso- 


torilftfl  'Pf  the 


trid 


life*,  are  the 
r-«w*  sign  — 


is  it  not  ?  —  of  new  vigor^jwhen  the  extrermtiesjm^nade 
active,  when  currents  of  warm  lifpjnjm  infont^tr-hwidq  and 
the  feet.  I  ask  not  for  the  great,  tlie  remote,  the  roman 
tic  ;  what  is  doing  in  Italy  or  Arabia ;  what  is  Greek  art, 
or  Provenpal  minstrelsy ;  I  embrace  the  common,  I  ex 
plore  and  sit  at  the  feet  oH^4iyttiIiaj,  thrrtoyT  Give 
me  insight  into  to-day,  and  you  may  have  the  antique  and 
future  worlds.  What  would  we  really  know  the  meaning 
of  ?  The  meal  in  the  firkin ;  the  milk  in  the  pan ;  the 
ballad  in  the  street ;  the  news  of  the  boat ;  the  glance  of 
the  eye  ;  the  form  and  the  gait  of  the  body ;  —  show  me 
the  ultimate  reason  of  these  matters ;  show  me  the  sub- 


94  THE     AMERICAN    SCHOLAE. 

lime  presence  of  the  highest  spiritual  cause  lurking,  as 
always  it  does  lurk,  in  these  suburbs  and  extremities  of 
nature  ;  let  me  see  every  trifle  bristling  with  the  polarity 
that  ranges  it  instantly  on  an  eternal  law ;  and  the  shop, 
the  plough,  and  the  ledger,  .referred  to  the  like  cause  by 
which  light  undulates  and  poets  sing  ;  and  thejworldjies 
no  longer  a  dull  miscellany  and  lumber-room,  but  has 
form  and  order ;  there  is  no  trifle  ;  there  is  no  puzzle ; 
but  one  design  unites  and  animates  the  farthest  pinnacle 
and  the  lowest  trench. 

This  idea  has  inspired  the  genius  of  Goldsmith,  Burns, 
Cowper,  and,  in  a  newer  time,  of  Goethe,  Wordsworth, 
and  Carlyle.  This  idea  they  have  differently  followed 
and  with  various  success.  In  contrast  with  their  writ 
ing,  the  style  of  Pope,  of  Johnson,  of  Gibbon,  looks  cold 
and  pedantic.  This  writing  is  blood-warm.  Man  is  sur 
prised  to  find  that  things  near  are  not  less  beautiful  and 
wondrous  than  things  remote.  The  near  explains  the 
far.  The  drop  is  a  small  ocean.  A  man  is  related  to  all 
nature.  This  perception  of  the  worth  of  the  vulgar  is 
fruitful  in  discoveries.  Goethe,  in  this  very  thing  the 
most  modern  of  the  moderns,  has  shown  us,  as  none  ever 
did,  the  genius  of  the  ancients. 

There  is  one-man  of^musJjwJiQ.]ias.4oiie  much  for 
this  philosophy  ofjife,,  whose  literary  value-kas-never  yet 
been  rightly  estimated;  —  I  mean  Emanuel  Swedenborg. 
The  most  imaginative  of  men,  yet  writing  with  the  pre 
cision  of  a  mathematician,  he  endeavored  to  ingraft  a 
purely  philosophical  Ethics  on  the  popular  Christianity 
of  his  time.  Such  an  attempt,  of  course,  must  have  diffi 
culty,  which  no  genius  could  surmount.  But  he  saw  and 


THE    AMERICAN    SCHOLAR.  95 

showed  the  connection  between  nature  and  the  affections 
of  the  stail.  He  pierced  the  emblematic  or  spiritual  char 
acter  of  the  !  visible,  audible,  tangible  world.  Especially 
did  his  shade-loving  muse  hover  over  and"  interpret  the 
lower  parts  of  nature  ;  he  showed  the  mysterious  bond 
that  allies  moral  evil  to  the  foul  material  forms,  and  has 
given  in  epical  parables  a  theory  of  insanity,  of  beasts,  of 
unclean  and  fearful  things. 

Another  sign  of  our  times,  also  jnackeeHrr-air  anal 
ogous  political  movement,  is  the  new  importance  given 
to  the  single  person!  Everything  that  tends  to  insulate 
the  jndixidtt^i  —  to  surround  him  with  barriers  of  natural 
respect,  so  that  each  man  sliaUfeel  the  world  as  his,  and 
Tnnn  *}}$]]  1  1  nil  nilh  111  111  mi  a  inTr^fP1  "t'ate  with  a 


sovereign  state  —  tends  to  true  union  as  well  as  great 
ness.      "  I  learned,  '^""scrid    the  —  melancholy  Pestalnzzi, 


no  man  in  God's  wide  earth  is  either  willing  or 
able  to  help  any  other  man."  Help  must  come  from  the 
bosom  alone.  The  scholar  is  that  man  who  must  take 
up  into  himself  all  the  ability  of  the  time,  all  the  con 
tributions  of  the  past,  all  the  hopes  of  the  future.  He 
must  be  an  university  of  knowledges.  If  there  be  one 
lesson  more  than  another,  which  should  pierce  his  ear,  it 
is  :  The  world  is  nothing,  the  man  is  all  ;  in  yourself  is 
the  law  of  all  nature,  and  you  know  not  yet  how  a 
globule  of  sap  ascends  ;  in  yourself  slumbers  the  whole 
of  Reason  ;  it  is  for  you  to  know  all,  it  is  for  you  to 
dare  all.  Mr.  President  and  Gentlemen,  this  confidence 
in  the  unsearched  might  of  man  belongs,  by  all  motives, 
by  all  prophecy,  by  all  preparation,  to  the  American 
Scholar.  We  have  listened  too  long  to  the  courtly 


96  THE    AMERICAN    SCHOLAR. 

muses  of  Europe.  The  spirit  of  the  American  freeman 
is  already  suspected  to  be  timicl,  imitative,  tame.  Pub 
lic  and  private  avarice  make  the  air  weTreathe  thick 
and  fat.  The  scholar  is  decent,  indolent,  complaisant. 
See  already  the  tragic  consequence.  The  mind  of  this 
country,  taught  to  aim  at  low  objects,  eats  upon  itself. 
There  is  no  work  for  any  but  the  decorous  and  the  com 
plaisant.  Young  men  of  the  fairest  promise,  who  begin 
life  upon  our  shores,  inflated  by  the  mountain  winds, 
shined  upon  by  all  the  stars  of  God,  find  the  earth  below 
not  in  unison  with  these,  —  but  are  hindered  from  action 
by  the  disgust  which  the  principles  on  which  business  is 
managed  inspire,  and  turn  drudges,  or  die  of  disgust,  — 
some  of  them  suicides.  What  is  the  remedy  ?  They  did 
not  yet  see,  and  thousands  of  young  men  as  hopeful  now 
crowding  to  the  barriers  for  the  career,  do  not  yet  see, 
that  if  the  single  man  plant  himself  indomitably  on  his 
instincts,  and  there  abide,  the  huge  world  will  come 
round  to  him.  Patience,  —  patience  ;  —  with  the  shades 
of  all  the  good  and  great  for  company ;  and  for  solace, 
the  perspective  of  your  own  infinite  life  ;  and  for  work, 
the  study  and  the  communication  of  principles,  the  mak 
ing  those  instincts  prevalent,  the  conversion  of  the  world. 
Is  it  not  the  chief  disgrace  in  the  world,  not  to  be  an 
unit ;  —  not  to  be  reckoned  one  character ;  —  not  to 
yield  that  peculiar  fruit  which  each  man  was  created  to 
bear,  but  to  be  reckoned  in  the  gross,  in  the  hundred, 
or  the  thousand,  of  the  party,  the  section,  to  which  we 
belong  ;  and  our  opinion  predicted  geographically,  as  the 
north,  or  the  south  ?  Not  so,  brothers  and  friends,  — 
please  God,  ours  shall  not  be  so.  We  will  walk  on  our 


THE     AMERICAN    SCHOLAR.  97 

own  feet ;  we  will  work  with  our  own  hands ;  we  wil? 
speak  our  own  minds.  The  study  of  letters  shall  be  no 
longer  a  name  for  pity,  for  doubt,  and  for  sensual  in 
dulgence.  The  dread  of  man  and  the  love  of  man  shall 
be  a  wall  of  defence  and  a  wreath  of  joy  around  all.^^A, 
nation  of  men  will  for  the  first  time  exist,  because  each 
belteVea  lillimulf  imwlrad  by  the  Divine  Soui  which  also 
inspires  all  men. 


AN    ADDRESS. 


DELIVERED  BEFORE  THE  SENIOR  CLASS  IN  DIVINITY  COL- 
LEGE,  CAMBRIDGE,  SUNDAY  EVENING,  JULY  15,  1838. 


ADDEESS. 


,  IN  this  refulgent  summer  it  has  been  a  luxury  to  draw 
the  breath  of  life.  The  grass  grows,  the  buds  burst,  the 
meadow  is  spotted  with  fire  and  gold  in  the  tint  of 
flowers.  The  air  is  full  of  birds,  and  sweet  with  the 
breath  of  the  pine,  the  balm-of-Gilead,  and  the  new  hay. 
Night  brings  no  gloom  to  the  heart  with  its  welcome 
shade.  Through  the  transparent  darkness  the  stars  pour 
their  almost  spiritual  rays.  Man  under  them  seems  a 
young  child,  and  his  huge  globe  a  toy.  The  cool  night 
bathes  the  world  as  with  a  river,  and  prepares  his  eyes 
again  for  the  crimson  dawn.  The  mystery  of  nature 
was  never  displayed  more  happily.  The  corn  and  the 
wine  have  been  freely  dealt  to  all  creatures,  and  the 
never-broken  silence  with  which  the  old  bounty  goes  for' 
ward  has  not  yielded  yet  one  word  of  explanation.  One 
is  constrained  to  respect  the  perfection  of  this  world,  in 
which  our  senses  converse.  How  wide ;  how  rich ;  what 
invitation  from  every  property  it  gives  to  every  faculty 
of  man !  In  its  fruitful  soils ;  in  its  navigable  sea ;  in 
its  mountains  of  metal  and  stone ;  in  its  forests  of  all 
woods ;  in  its  animals ;  in  its  chemical  ingredients ;  in 
the  powers  and  path  of  light,  heat,  attraction,  and  life,  it 
is  well  worth  the  pith  and  heart  of  great  men  to  subdue 


102  ADDRESS. 

and  enjoy  it.  The  planters,  the  mechanics,  the  invent 
ors,  the  astronomers,  the  builders  of  cities,  and  the  cap 
tains,  history  delights  to  honor. 

But  when  the  mind  opens,  and  reveals  the  laws  which 
traverse  the  universe,  and  make  things  what  they  are, 
then  shrinks  the  great  world  at  once  into  a  mere  illustra 
tion  and  fable  of  this  mind.  What  am  I  ?  and  What  is  ? 
asks  the  human  spirit  with  a  curiosity  new-kindled,  but 
never  to  be  quenched.  Behold  these  outrunning  laws, 
which  our  imperfect  apprehension  can  see  tend  this  way 
and  that,  but  not  come  full  circle.  Behold  these  infinite 
relations,  so  like,  so  unlike ;  many,  yel  one": — f~would 
study,  1  would  know,  I  would  admire  forever.  These 
works  of  thought  have  been  the  entertainments  of  the 
human  spirit  in  all  ages. 

A  more  secret,  sweet,  and  overpowering  beauty  ap 
pears  to  man  when  his  heart  and  mind  open  to  the 
sentiment  of  virtue.  Then  he  is  instructed  in  what  is 
above  him.  He  learns  that  his  being  is  without  bound ; 
that,  to  the  good,  to  the  perfect,  he  is  born,  low  as  he 
now  lies  in  evil  and  weakness.  That  which  he  venerates 
is  still  his  own,  though  he  has  not  realized  it  yet.  He 
ought.  He  knows  the  sense  of  that  grand  word,  though 
his  analysis  fails  entirely  to  render  account  of  it.  ^Jjfiji 
in  innocencv,  or  when,  by  intellectual  perception,  he 
attains  to  say,  —  "  I  love  the  Riflht :  Truth  is  beautiful 
within  and  without1  {Wverm^re.  Virtue,  I^amJ^njie ; 
aave  jne  :  use  me  :  thee  will  I  serve,  day  and  night,  in 
greatjn  small,  jjiat  I  may  be  nQtjdr^1""^]!^^"^/' 
—  then  is  the  end  of  the  creation  answered,  andGod  is 
well  pleased.  , 


ADDRESS.  103 

The  sentiment  of  virtue  j's  p  revprpnpa.  anrL.dfVligM  in 
the  presence  of  certain  divine  laws.  It  perceives  that 
this  homely  game  of  life  we  play  covers,  under  what 
seem  foolish  details,  principles  that  astonish.  The  child 
amidst  his  bawbles  is  learning  the  action  of  light,  motion, 
gravity,  muscular  force  ;  and  in  the  game  of  human  life, 
love,  fear,  justice,  appetite,  man,  and  God,  interact. 
These  laws  refuse  to  be  adequately  stated.  They  will 
not  be  written  out  on  paper,  or  spoken  by  the  tongue. 
They  elude  our  persevering  thought  ;  yet  we  read  them 
hourly  in  each  other's  faces,  in  each  other's  actions,  in 
our  own  remorse.  The  moral  traits  which  are  all  globed 
into  every  virtuous  acu  and  thought,  —  in  speech,  we 
must  sever,  and  describe  or  suggest  by  painful  enumer 
ation  of  many  particulars.  Yet,  as  this  sentiment  is  the 
essence  of  all  religion,  let  me  guide  your  eye  to  the 
precise  objects  of  the  sentiment,  by  an  enumeration  of 
some  of  those  classes  of  facts  in  which  this  element  is 
conspicuous. 

The  intuition  of  the  moral  sentiment  is  flp  insight 
of  therjerfection  of  the  law«  nf  thfi  griLLL  These  laws 
execute  themselves.  They  are  out  of  time,  out  of  space, 
and  not  subject  to  circumstanceT  Tlius  ;  in  the  soul  of 
man  there  is  a  justice  whose  retributions  are  instant 
and  entire.  He  who  does  a  ^ooct  deed,  is  jn^frnt.ly  en 
nobled.  ^Le  who  does  a  mean  deed,  is  by  the  action 
itself  contracted.  He  who  puts  off  impurity,  thereby 
puts  on  purity.  If  a  man  is  at  heart  just,  then  in  so  far 
is  he  God  ;  the  safety  of  Go"d.  the  immprtflHty  ^Hnrl 


the  nmjpfif-.y  nf   ftnd,.  rln  qnf.ftf  j]ito  thai.    TY^  wiili   justice. 

If  a  man  dissemble,  deceive,  he  deceives  himself,  and 


104  ADDRESS. 

goes  out  of  acquaintance  with  his  own  being.  A  man  in 
the  view  of  absolute  goodness,  adores,  with  total  humil 
ity.  Every  step  so  downward  is  a  step  upward.  The 
man  who  renounces  himself,  comes  to  himself. 

See  how  this  rapid  intrinsic  energy  worketh  every 
where,  righting  wrongs,  correcting  appearances,  and 
bringing  up  facts  to  a  harmony  with  thoughts.  Its 
operation  in  life,  though  slow  to  the  senses,  is,  at  last,  as 
sure  as  in  the  soul.  By  it,  a  man  is  made  the  Providence 
to  himself,  dispensing  good  to  his  goodness,  and  evil  to 
his  sin.  Character  is  always  known.  Thefts  never  en 
rich  ;  alms  never  impoverish ;  murder  will  speak  out  of 
stone  walls.  The  least  admixture  of  a  lie  —  for  example, 
the  taint  of  vanity,  the  least  attempt  to  make  a  good  im 
pression,  a  favorable  appearance  —  will  instantly  vitiate 
the  effect.  But  speak  the  truth,  andall  nature  and  all 
spirits  help  you  witli  unexpected"  lurtlierance.  Speak  {fie 
truth,  and  all  things  alive  or  brute  are  vouchers,  and  the 
very  roots  of  the  grass  underground  there  do  seem  to 
,  stir  and  move  to  bear  you  witness.  See  again  the  per 
fection  of  the  Law  as  it  applies  itself  to  the  affections, 
and  becomes  the  law  of  society.  As  we  are,  so  we  asso 
ciate.  The  good,  by  affinity,  seek  the  good ;  the  vile,  by 
affinity,  the  vile.  Thus  of  their  own  volition,  souls  pro 
ceed  into  heaven,  into  hell. 

These  facts  have  always  suggested  to  man  the  sublime 
creed,  that  the  world  is  not  the  product  of  manifold 
power,  but  of  one  will,  of  one  mind;  and  that  one  mind 
is  everywhere  active,  in  each  ray  of  the  star,  in  each 
wavelet  of  the  pool ;  and  whatever  opposes  that  will  is 
everywhere  balked  and  baffled,  because  things  are  made 


ADDRESS. 


105 


so,  and  not  otherwise.  Good  is  positive^.  EYI]  is  mp.rpjy 
privative,  not  absolute  :  it  is  like  cold,  which  is  the  pri 
vation  of  heat.  All  evil  is  so  much  death  or  nonentity. 
Benevolence  is  absolute  and  real.  So  much  benevolence 
as  a  man  hath,  so  much  life  hath  he.  For  all  things  pro 
ceed  out  of  this  same  spirit,  which  is  differently  named 
love,  justice,  temperance,  in  its  different  applications, 
just  as  the  ocean  receives  different  names  on  the  several 
shores  which  it  washes.  All  things  proceed  out  of  the 
same  spirit,  and  all  things  ^crrn  spire  w^tli  if,.  THiilst  a 
inan  seeks  good  ends,  lie  is  strong  fr  thf>  whole 


so  far  as  he  roves  from  these  finds,  he 


Shrinks  out  of  all  remote  channels,  he  becomes  less  and 
less,  a  mote,  a  point,  until  absolute  badness  is  absolute 
death._ 

~Ti'lie~  perception  of  this  law  of  laws  awakens  in  the 
mind  a  sediment  which  we  call  the  religious  sentiment, 
and  which  makes  our  highest  happinessI^W  ondertulls  its 
power  to  charm  and  to  command.  It  is  a  mountain  air. 
It  is  the  embalmer  of  the  world.  It  is  myrrh  and  storax, 
and  chlorine  and  rosemary.  It  makes  the  sky  and  the  hills 
sublime,  and  the  silent  song  oT'llie  &Uis  is  il.  Bftt,  is 
the  universe  made  safe  and  habitable,  not  by  science  or 
power.  Thought  may  work  cold  and  intransitive  in 
things,  and  find  no  end  or  unity  ;  but  the  dawn  of  the 
sentiment  of  virtue  on  the  heart  gives  and  is  tlir  iitimrr 
ance  that  JLawjLS__smrrrri(rn  -nrrr  nil  rnturr-y  and  the 
worlds,  time.  /space,  eternity,  do  seem  to  break  out  into 

i°y- 

It  is  the  beati- 


106  ADDRESS. 

tude  of  man.  It  makes  him  illimitable.  Through  it,  the 
soul  first  knows  itself.  It  corrects  the  capital  mistake  of 
the  infant  man,  who  seeks  to  be  great  by  following  the 
great,  and  hopes  to  derive  advantages//*^  another,  —  by 
showing  the  fountain  of  all  good  to  be  in  himself,  and 
that  he,  equally  with  every  man,  is  an  inlet  into  the  deeps 
of  Reason.  When  he  says,  "  I  ought  "  ;  when  love  warms 
him  ;  wjien  he  chooses,  warned  from  on  high,  the  good 
and  great  deed  ;  then,  deep  melodies  wander  through 
"liis  soul  from  Supreme  Wisdom.  Then  he  can  worship, 
and  be  enlarged  by  his  worship;  for  he  can  never  go 
behind  this  sentiment.  In  the  sublimest  flights  of  the 
soul,  rectitude  is  never  surmounted,  love  is  never  out  - 
rowji. 

This  sentiment  lies  at  the  foundation  of  society,  and 
ply  firpatffi  a^1  fprmg  nf  worship.     The  principle 


of  veneration  never  dies  out.  Man  fallen  into  supersti- 
tion7into  sensuality,  is  neyefquite  without  the  visions  of 
the  moral  sentiment.  In  like  manner,  all  the  expressions 
of  this  sentiment  are  sacred  and  permanent  in  proportion 
to  their  purity.  The  expressions  oi  mis  sentiment  affect 
us  more  than  all  other  compositions.  The  sentences  of 
the  oldest  time,  which  ejaculate  this  piety,  are  still  fresh 
and  fragrant.  This  thought  dwelled  always  deepest  in 
the  minds  of  men  in  the  devout  and  contemplative  East  ; 
not  alone  in  Palestine,  where  it  reached  its  purest  expres 
sion,  but  in  Egypt,  in  Persia,  in  India,  in  China.  Europe 
has  always  owed  to  Oriental  genius  its  divine  impulses. 
What  these  holy  bards  said,  all  sane  men  found  agreeable 
and  true.  And  the  unique  impression  of  Jesus  upon 
mankind,  whose  name  is  not  so  much  written  as  ploughed 


ADDRESS.  107 

into  the  history  of  this  world,  is  proof  of  the  subtle  virtue 
of  this  infusion. 

Meantime,  whilst  the  doors  of  the  temple  stand  open, 
night  and  day,  before  every  man,  and  the  oracles  of  this 
truth  cease  never,  it  is  guarded  by  one  stern  condition  : 
this,  namely ;  it  is  an  intuition^  It  cannot  be  received 
at  second  hand.  Truly  speaking,  it  is  notjnstr.uction. 
but  provocation,  that  I  can  receive  from  another  soul. 
What  he  announces,  1  must  hnd  irueTn  me,  or  wholly 
reject ;  and  on  his  word,  or  as  his  second,  be  he  who  he 
may,  I  can  accept  nothing.  On  the  contrary,  the  ab 
sence  of  this  primary  faith  is  the  presence  of  dpgmfT^-r 
tion.  As  is  the  flood  so  is  the  ebb.  Let  this  faith  de 
part,  and  the  very  words  it  spake,  and  the  things  it 
made,  become  false  and  hurtful.  Then  falls  the  church, 
the  state,  art,  letters,  life.  The  doctrine  of  the  divine 
nature  being  forgotten,  a  sickness  infects  and  dwarfs  the 
constitution.  Once  man  was  all;  now  he  is  an  appen 
dage,  a  nuisance.  And  because  the  indwelling  Supreme 
Spirit  cannot  wholly  be  got  rid  of,  the  doctrine  of  it 
suffers  this  perversion,  that  the  divine  nature  is  attrib 
uted  to  one  or  two  persons,  and  denied  to  all  the  rest, 
and  denied  with  fury.  The  doctrine  of  inspiration  is 
lost ;  the  base  doctrine  of  the  majority  of  voices  usurps 
the  place  of  the  doctrine  of  the  soul.  Miracles,  proph 
ecy,  poetry ;  the  ideal  life,  the  holy  life,  exist  as  ancient 
history  merely;  they  are  not  in  the  belief,  nor  in  the 
aspiration  of  society  ;  but,  when  suggested,  seem  ridicu 
lous.  Life  is"  comic  or  pitiful,  as  soon  as  the  high  ends 
of  being  fade  out  of  sight,  and  man  becomes  near-sighted, 
and  can  only  attend  to  what  addresses  the  senses. 


108 


ADDRESS. 


These  general  views,  which,  whilst  they  are  general, 
none  will  contest,  find  abundant  illustration  in  the  his 
tory  of  religion,  and  especially  in  the  history  of  the 
Christian  Church.  In  that,  all  of  us  have  had  our 
birth  and  nurture.  The  truth  contained  in  that,  you, 
my  young  friends,  are  now  setting  forth  to  teach.  As 
the  Cultus,  or  established  worship  of  the  civilized  world, 
it  has  great  historical  interest  for  us.  Of  its  blessed 
words,  which  have  been  the  consolation  of  humanity, 
you  need  not  that  I  should  speak.  I  shall  endeavor  to 
discharge  my  duty  to  you,  on  this  occasion,  by  pointing 
out  two  errors  in  its  administration,  which  daily  appear 
more  gross  from  the  point  of  view  we  have  just  now 
taken. 

Jesus  Christ  belonged  to  the  true  race  of  prophets  . 
He  saw  with  open  eye  the  mystery  of  the  soul.  Drawn 
by  its  severe  harmony,  ravished  with  its  beauty,  he  lived 
in  it,  and  had  his  being  there.  Alone  in  all  history,  he 
estimate^  the,  greatness  of  man.  Une  man  was  true  to 
what  is  in  you  and  me.  He  saw  that  God  incarnate.s  him: 
*plf  in  ™an  and  evermore  goes  fftrfh  flFpw  fn  ta]rp  ?"*- 
Tajinn  nf  hin^imrid  He  said,  in  this  jubilee  of  sublime 
emotion,  "  I  am  divine.  Through  me,  Gofl  acts  ;  through 

wKen  thou  jdso^thinkr'it  ni  T  nmHhinV  " 
diSt6rtion  dicfhis  doctrine  and  memory  suffer  in  the  same, 
in  the  next,  and  the  following  ages  !  There  is  no  doctrine 
of  the  Reason  which  will  bear  to  be  taught  by  the  Under 
standing.  The  "Hfrsffl  rif^  or  caught  this  high  chant 
from  the  poet's  lips,  and  said,  in  the  ne%t,  «igq,  "This 
was  Jehovah  come  down  out  of  heaven. 


But  what  a 


ADDRESS.  109 

JLyou  sav  he  was  a  man."  The  .idioms  of  his  language, 
and  the  figures  of  his  rhetoric,  have  usurped  the  place 
nf  his  tri4h4  and  churches  are  not  built  on  his  princi 
ples,  but  on  his  tropes.  Christianity  tif^ani"  "  "rhjfk"g/ 
aT  Lin  puotio  touching  of  Greece  and  of  Egypt,  before. 
He  spoke  of  miracles  ;  for  he  felt  that  man's  life  was 
a  miracle,  and  all  that  man  doth,  and  he  knew  thaT  his 
daily  miracle  shines,  as  the  character  ascends.  But  the 
word  Miracle,  as  pronounced  by  Christian  churches, 
gives  a  false  impression  ;  it  is  Monster.  It  is  not  one 
with  the  blowing  clover  and  the  falling  rain. 

He  felt  respect  for  Moses  and  the  prophets  ;  but  no 
unfit  tenderness  at  postponing  their  initial  revelations, 
to  the  hour  and  the  man  that  now  is  ;  to  the  eternal 
revelation  in  the  heart.  Thus  was  he  a  true  man. 
Having  seen  that  the  law  in  us  is  commanding,  he  would 
not  suffer  it  to  be  commanded.  Boldly,  with  hand,  and 
heart,  and  life,  he  declared  it  was  God.  Thus  is  he,  as 
I  think,  the  only  soul  in  history  who  has  appreciated 
the  worth  of  a  man. 

1.  In  this  point  of  view  we  become  very  sensible  of 
the  first  defect  of  bist™-'^]  Christianity  Historical 
Christianity  has  fallen  into  the  error  that  corrupts  all 
attempts  to  communicate  religion.  As  it  appears  to  us, 
and  as  it  has  appeared  for  ages,  it  is  not,  fflip.  r^frima.  of 
the  soul,  but  an  exaggeration  of  the  personal.the  ppsi- 

" 


exaggeration  about  the  nerson  of  Jesus.  The  soul  knows 
no  persons.  It  invites  every  man  to  expand  to  the  full 
circle  of  the  universe,  and  will  have  no  preferences  but 
fliost*  1)1'  iJUbnlaneous_Jflite.  But  by  this  eastern  mon- 


110  ADDRESS. 

arcliy  of  a  Christianity,  which  indolence  and  fear  have 
built,  the  friend  of  man  is  made  the  injurer  of  man. 
The  manner  in  which  his  name  is  surrounded  with  ex 
pressions,  which  were  once  sallies  of  admiration  and 
love,  but  are  now  petrified  into  official  titles,  kills  all 
generous  sympathy  and  liking.  All  who  hear  me  feel 
that  the  language  that  describes  Christ  to  Europe  and 
America,  is  not  the  style  of  friendship  and  enthusiasm 
to  a  good  and  noble  heart,  but  is  appropriated  and 
formal,  —  paints  a  demi-god  as  the  Orientals  or  the 
Greeks  would  describe  Osiris  or  Apollo.  Accept  the  inju 
rious  impositions  of  our  early  catechetical  instruction, 
and  even  honesty  and  self-denial  were  but  splendid  sins, 
if  they  did  not  wear  the  Christian  name.  One  would 
rather  be 

"  A  pagan,  suckled  in  a  creed  outworn," 

than  to  be  defrauded  of  his  manly  right  in  coming  into 
nature,  and  finding  not  names  and  places,  not  land  and 
professions,  but  even  virtue  and  truth  foreclosed  and 
monopolized.  You  shall  not  be  a  man  even.  You  shall 
not  own  the  world  ;  you  shall  not  dare,  and  live  after  the 
infinite  Law  that  is  in  you,  and  in  company  with  the  in 
finite  Beauty  which  heaven  and  earth  reflect  to  you  in  all 
lovely  forms  ;  but  you  must  subordinate  your  nature  to 
Christ's  nature  ;  you  must  accept  our  interpretations  ; 
and  take  his  portrait  as  the  vulgar  draw  it. 

That  is  always  best  which  gives  me  to  myself.     The 
sublime  is  excited  in  me  by  the  great  stoical  doctrine, 
Obey  thyself.     That  jvhjch  shpwg  ^A  '"  ™°,  ^*;fl0c 
hat   wliichshows  God  out   of  me.  makes  me  a 


ey 
me.     T 


ADDRESS.  Ill 

wart  and  a  wen.  There  is  no  longer  a  necessary  reason 
?QJ '  niy '"h^incr  Already  the  long  shadows  of  untimely 
oblivion  creep  over  me,  and  I  shall  decease  forever. 

The  divine  bards  are  the  friends  of  my  virtue,  of  my 
intellect,  of  my  strength.  They  admonish  me,  that  the 
gleams  which  flash  across  my  mind  are  not  mine,  but 
God's ;  that  they  had  the  like,  and  wrere  not  disobedient 
to  the  heavenly  vision.  So  I  love  them.  Noble  provo 
cations  go  out  from  them,  inviting  me  to  resist  evil ;  to 
subdue  the  world;  and  to  Be.  And  thus  by  his  holy 
thoughts,  Jesus  serves  us,  and  thus  only.  To  aim  to 
convert  a  man  by  miracles,  is  a  profanation  of  the  soul. 
A  true  conversion,  a  true  Christ,  is  nnw,  **  fllwayg  to 

trueTthat  a  great  and  rich  soul,  like  his,  falling  among 
the  simple,  does  so  preponderate,  that,  as  his  did,  it 
names  the  world.  The  world  seems  to  them  to  exist  for 
him,  and  they  have  not  ^et  drunk  so  deeply  of  his  sense, 
as  to  see  that  only  by  coming  again  to  themselves,  or  to 
God  in  themselves,  can  they  grow  forevermore.  It  is  a 
low  benefit  to  give  me  something ;  it  is  a  high  benefit 
to  enable  me  to  do  somewhat  of  myself.  The  time  is 
coming  when  all  men  will  see,  that  the  gift  of  God  to  the 
soul  is  not  a  vaunting,  overpowering,  excluding  sanctity, 
Trmft.  p  swppf  pafnral  goodnessT  a  goodness  like  thine  and 
mine,,  and  that  so  invites  thine  and  mine  to  be  .and  to 

grow 

The  injustice  of  the  vulgar  tone  of. preaching  is  not 
less  flagrant  to  Jesus,  than  to  the  souls  which  it  pr6- 
fanes.  The  preachers  do  not  see  that  they  make  his 
gospel  not  glad,  and  shear  him  of  the  locks  of  beauty 


112  ADDRESS. 

and  the  attributes  of  heaven.  When  I  see  a  majestic 
Epaminondas,  or  Washington  ;  when  I  see  among  my 
contemporaries,  a  true  orator,  an  upright  judge,  a  dear 
friend;  when  I  vibrate  to  the  melody  and  fancy  of  a 
poem;  I  see  beauty  that  is  to  be  desired.  And  so 
lovely,  and  with  yet  more  entire  consent  of  my  human 
being,  sounds  in  my  ear  the  severe  music  of  the  bards 
that  have  sung  of  the  true  God  in  all  ages.  Now  do  not 
degrade  the  life  and  dialogues  of  Christ  out  of  the  circle 
of  this  .  charm,  by  insulation  and  peculiarity.  Let  them 
lie  as  they  befell,  alive  and  warm,  part  of  human  life,  and 
of  the  landscape,  and  of  the  cheerful  day. 

2.  The  second  defect  of  the  traditionary  and  limited 
way  of  using  the  mind  of  Christ  is  a  consequence  of  the 
first  ;  this,  namely,  that  the  Moral  Nature,  that  Law  of 
laws,  whose  revelations  introduce  greatness.  —  yea.  God 
himself,  into  the  open  soul,  is  not  explored  as  the  foun 

tain    Of    the.^tfliNi*1^    tpanfr'ng    l'n    «nr»i'pfjt       Men   have 

come  to  speak  of  the  revelation  as  somewhafT  loyjg1  ago 
given  and  done,  as  if  God  wpre  /fcH      The  injury  to 
t'aitli  throttles  the  preacher  ;  and  the  goodliest  of  insti 
tutions  becomes  an  uncertain  and  inarticulate  voice. 
It  is  very  certain  that  it  is  the  effect  of 


with  the  beauty  of  the  soul,  to  be^et,  a.  dpsirp,  anrl 
to  impart  io  others  the  samp  kr^^^r,  and  love.  If 
utterance  is  denied,  the  thought  lies  like  a  burden  on  the 
man.  Always  the  seer  is  a  saver.  Somehow  his  dream 
is  told  :  somehow  he  publishes  it  with  solemn  joy  :  some 
times  with  pencil  on  canvas  ;  sometimes  with  chisel  on 
stone  ;  sometimes  in  towers  and  aisles  of  granite,  his 
soul's  worship  is  builded  ;  sometimes  in  anthems  or  in- 


ADDEESS.  113 

definite  music;  but  clearest  and  most  permanent,  in 
words. 

The  man  enamored  of  this  excellency,  becomes  its 
priest  or  poet.  The  office  is  coeval  with  the  world.  But 
observe  the  condition,  the  spiritual  limitation  of  the 
office.  The  spirit  only  can  teach.  Not  any  profane  man, 
not  any  sensual,  not  any  liar,  not  any  slave  can  teach, 
but  only  he  can  give,  who  has ;  liejon]y_cajLCjejite^wlio 
is.  The  man  on  whom  the  soul  demands,  thrmighjvhom 
thft  soul  speafra,  flinty  nan  tea/sh.  _  Courage,  piety,  love, 
wisdom,  can  teach  ;  and  every  man  can  open  his  door  to 
these  angels,  and  they  shall  bring  him  the  gift  of  tongues. 
But  the  man  who  aims  to  speak  as  formica  p.nahla,  as 
synods  use,  as  the  fi^hl™1  ff""fo«,  «"d  •"-  intnmnf  mm. 
mands,  babbles.  Let  him  hush. 

To  .this  holy  office  you  propose  to  devote  yourselves. 
I  wish  you  may  feel  your  call  in  throbs  of  desire  and 
hope.  The  office  is  the  first  in  the  world.  It  is  of  that 
reality  that  it  cannot  suffer  the  deduction  of  any  false 
hood.  And  it  is  my  duty  to  say  to  you,  that  the  need 
was  never  greater  of  new  revelation  than  now.  From 
the  views  I  have  already  expressed,  you  will  infer  the 
sad  conviction,  which  I  share,  1  believe,  with  numbers, 
of  the  universal  decay  and  now  almost  death  of  faith  in 
society.  The  soul  is  not  preached.  The  Church  seems 
to  totter  to  its  fall,  almost  all  life  extinct.  On  this  oc 
casion,  any  complaisance  would  be  criminal,  which  told 
you,  whose  hope  and  commission  it  is  to  preach  the  faith 
of  Christ,  that  the  faith  of  Christ  is  preached. 

It  is  time  that  this  ill-suppressed  murmur  of  all 
thoughtful  men  against  the  famine  of  our  churches ;  this 


114  ADDRESS. 

moaning  of  the  heart  because  it  is  bereaved  of  the  conso 
lation,  the  hope,  the  grandeur,  that  come  alone  out  of 
the  culture  of  the  moral  nature ;  should  be  heard  through 
the  sleep  of  indolence,  and  over  the  din  of  routine. 
This  great  and  perpetual  office  of  the  preacher  is  not 
discharged.  Preaching  is  the  expression  of  the  moral 
sentiment  in  application  to  the  duties  of  life.  In  how 
many  churches,  Dy  now  many  prophets,  tell  me,  is  nTSn 
T^pcfpc^lp  fliaf  Jifi.is  an  infinite  Soul ;  that  the  earth 
arid  heavens  are  passing  into  his  mind ;  ^that  he  is  drink 
ing  forever  IM  MUUl  Oi'  God  r  W  here  now  sounds  the 
persuasion,  that  by  its  very  melody  im paradises  my 
heart,  and  so  affirms  its  own  origin  in  heaven  ?  Where 
shall  I  hear  words  such  as  in  elder  ages  drew  men  to 
leave  all  and  follow,  —  father  and  mother,  house  and 
land,  wife  and  child  ?  Where  shall  I  hear  these  august 
laws  of  moral  being  so  pronounced,  as  to  fill  my  ear,  and 
I  feel  ennobled  by  the  offer  of  my  uttermost  action  and 
passion  ?  The  test  of  the  true  faith,  certainly,  should  be 
its  power  to  charm  and  command  the  soul,  as  the  laws  of 
nature  control  the  activity  of  the  hands,  —  so  command 
ing  that  we  find  pleasure  and  honor  in  obeying.  The 
faith  should  blend  with  the  light  of  rising  and  of  setting 
suns,  with  the  flying  cloud,  the  singing  bird,  and  the 
breath  of  flowers.  But  now  the  priest's  Sabbath  has 
lost  the  splendor  of  nature ;  it  is  unlovely ;  we  are  glad 
when  it  is  done  ;  we  can  make,  we  do  make,  even  sitting 
in  our  pews,  a  far  better,  holier,  sweeter,  for  ourselves. 

Whenever  the  pulpit  is  mil rppfihy  fl  fn™^1'0*.  then  is 
lln  TrrTuliippiir  rinfrniiidT^nrl  Vlinrnnmlrrtr  We  shrink 
as  soon  as  the  prayers  begin,  which  do  not  uplift,  but 


ADDRESS.  115 

smite  and  offend^  us.  We  are  fain  to  wrap  our  cloaks 
aboutTus,  and  secure,  as  best  we  can,  a  solitude  that 
hears  not.  I  once  heard  a  preacher  who  sorely  tempted 
me  to  say  I  would  go  to  church  no  more.  Men  go, 
thought  I,  where  they  are  wont  to  go,  else  had  no  soul 
entered  the  temple  in  the  afternoon.  A  snow-storm  was 
falling  around  us.  The  snow-storm  was  real ;  the  preacher 
merely  spectral ;  and  the  eye  felt  the  sad  contrast  in  look 
ing  at  him,  and  then  out  of  the  window  behind  him,  into 
the  beautiful  meteor  of  the  snow.  He  had  lived  in  vain. 
He  had  no  one  word  intimating  that  he  had  laughed  or 
wept,  was  married  or  in  love,  had  been  commended,  or 
cheated,  or  chagrined.  If  he  had  ever  lived  and  acted, 
we  were  none  the  wiser  for  it.  The  capital  secret  o£  his 
profession,  namely f  to  convert  lifejnio^tr^tivj  IIP,  hjidjiot 
ka^ned.  jNotone  fact  in  all  his  experience  had  he  yuet 
imported  into  his  doctrine.  This  man  had  ploughed,  and 
planted,  and  talked,  ana  bought,  and  sold ;  he  had  read 
books ;  he  had  eaten  and  drunken ;  his  head  aches ;  his 
heart  throbs ;  he  smiles  and  suffers ;  yet  was  there  not 
a  surmise,  a  hint,  in  all  the  discourse,  that  he  had  ever 
lived  at  all.  ~~  JNot  a  line  did  he  draw  out  of  real  history. 

--The  trUtTpreacher  can  be  known  by  this,  that  he  deals 
°uLfo  Hip  {Yfftylo  hin  lifnj  •-•  liftr  pnfnnH  4tiT>r>n^h...tb.p!  fire 
of  thought.  But  of  the  bad  preacher,  it  could  not  be 

"""told  frdmTis  sermon,  what  age  of  the  world  he  fell  in ; 
whether  he  had  a  father  or  a  child;  whether  he  was 
a  freeholder  or  a  pauper ;  whether  he  was  a  citizen  or  a 
countryman  ;  or  any  other  fact  of  his  biography.  It 
seemed  strange  that  the  people  should  come  to  church. 
It  seemed  as  if  their  houses  were  very  unentertaining, 


116  ADDRESS. 

that  they  should  prefer  this  thoughtless  clamor.  It  shows 
that  there  is  a  commanding  attraction  in  the  moral  senti 
ment,,  that  can  lend  a  faint  tint  of  light  to  dulness  and 
ignorance,  coming  in  its  name  and  place.  The  good 
hearer  is  sure  he  has  been  touched  sometimes ;  is  sure 
there  is  somewhat  to  be  reached,  and  some  word  that  can 
reach  it.  When  he  listens  to  these  vain  words,  he  com 
forts  himself  by  their  relation  to  his  remembrance  of  bet 
ter  hours,  and  so  they  clatter  and  echo  unchallenged. 

I  am  not  ignorant  that  when  we  preach  unworthily, 
it  is  not  always  quite  in  vain.  There  is  a  good  ear,  in 
some  men,  that  draws  supplies  to  virtue  out  of  very  in 
different  nutriment.  There  is  poetic  truth  concealed  in 
all  the  commonplaces  of  prayer  and  of  sermons,  and 
though  foolishly  spoken,  they  may  be  wisely  heard  ;  for, 
each  is  some  select  expression  that  broke  out  in  a  mo 
ment  of  piety  from  some  stricken  or  jubilant  soul,  and 
its  excellency  made  it  remembered.  The  prayers  and 
even  the  dogmas  of  our  church  are  like  the  zodiac  of 
Denderah,  and  the  astronomical  monuments  of  the  Hin 
doos,  wholly  insulated  from  anything  now  extant  in  the 
life  and  business  of  the  people.  They  mark  the  height 
to  which  the  waters  once  rose.  But  this  docility  is  a 
check  upon  the  mischief  from  the  good  and  devout.  In 
a  large  portion  of  the  community,  the  religious  service 
gives  rise  to  quite  other  thoughts  and  emotions.  We 
need  not  chide  the  negligent  servant.  We  are  struck 
with  pity,  rather,  at  the  swift  retribution  of  his  sloth. 
Alas  for  the  unhappy  man  that  is  called  to  stand  in  the 
pulpit,  and  not  give  bread  of  life.  Everything  that  be 
falls,  accuses  him.  Would  he  ask  contributions  for  the 


ADDRESS.  117 

missions,  foreign  or  domestic  ?  Instantly  his  face  is  suf 
fused  with  shame,  to  propose  to  his  parish,  that  they 
should  send  money  a  hundred  or  a  thousand  miles,  to 
furnish  such  poor  fare  as  they  have  at  home,  and  would 
do  well  to  go  the  hundred  or  the  thousand  miles  to  es 
cape.  Would  he  urge  people  to  a  godly  way  of  living ; 
and  can  he  ask  a  fellow-creature  to  come  to  Sabbath 
meetings,  when  he  and  they  all  know  what  is  the  poor 
uttermost  they  can  hope  for  therein?  Will  he  invite 
them  privately  to  the  Lord's  Supper?  He  dares  not. 
If  no  heart  warm  this  rite,  the  hollow,  dry,  creaking  for 
mality  is  too  plain,  than  that  he  can  face  a  man  of  wif 
and  energy,  and  put  the  invitation  without  terror.  In 
the  street,  what  has  he  to  say  to  the  bold  village  blas 
phemer  ?  The  village  blasphemer  sees  fear  in  the  face, 
form,  and  gait  of  the  minister. 

Let  me  not  taint  the  sincerity  of  this  plea  by  any  over 
sight  of  the  claims  of  good  men.  I  know  and  honor  the 
purity  and  strict  conscience  of  numbers  of  the  clergy. 
What  life  the  public  worship  retains,  it  owes  to  the 
scattered  company  of  pious  men,  who  minister  here  and 
there  in  the  churches,  and  who,  sometimes  accepting  with 
too  great  tenderness  the  tenet  of  the  elders,  have  not  ac 
cepted  from  others,  but  from  their  own  heart,  the  genuine 
impulses  of  virtue,  and  so  still  command  our  love  and 
awe,  to  the  sanctity  of  character.  Moreover,  the  excep 
tions  are  not  so  much  to  be  found  in  a  few  eminent 
preachers,  as  in  the  better  hours,  the  truer  inspirations 
of  all,  —  nay,  in  the  sincere  moments  of  every  man. 
But  with  whatever  exception,  it  is  still  true,  that  tra-_ 

.s    fhP    prpaolmi        nf   ftiir-   nnnr^y  .     +W 


118  ADDRESS. 


it  comes  _o"t  ^f  t.hp.  mpimnry,  ^nd  not  out  of  the  soul: 
that  It  aims  at  what  is  usual,  an^  no*  «+•  w^t  jg  TIPOPC. 
sary  and  eternal  :  that  thus  historical  Christianity  ^\f>.- 
stroys  the  power  of  preaching,  by  withdrawing  it  from 
the  exploration,  of  the  moral  nature  of  man,  where  the 
sublime  is,  where  are  the  resourpp'i  nf 


power.  What  a  cruel  injustice  it  is  to  that  Law,  the  joy 
of  the  whole  earth,  which  alone  can  make  thought  dear 
and  rich  ;  that  Law  whose  fatal  sureness  the  astronomi 
cal  orbits  poorly  emulate,  that  it  is  travestied  and  depre 
ciated,  that  it  is  behooted  and  behowled,  and  not  a  trait, 
not  a  word  of  it  articulated.  The  pulpit,  in  losing  sight 
o^this  Law,  loses  its  reason,  and  g™pps  after  it  knows 
notwbai.  And  tor  want  oi'  this  culture,  the  soul  of  the 
community  is  sick  and  faithless.  It  wants  nothing  so 
much  as  a  stern,  high,  stoical,  Christian  discipline,  to 
make  it  know  itself  and  the  divinity  tEal  JJpeaks^tTirough 
it.  .Now  man  is  Ashamed  of  himself;  he  skulks  and 
sneaks  through  the  world,  to  be  tolerated,  to  be  pitied, 
and  scarcely  in  a  thousand  years  does  any  man  dare  to 
be  wise  and  good,  and  so  draw  after  him  the  tears  and 
blessings  of  his  kind. 

Certainly  there  have  been  periods  when,  from  the  in 
activity  of  the  intellect  on  certain  truths,  a  greater  faith 
was  possible  in  names  and  persons.  The  Puritans  in 
England  and  America  found  in  the  Christ  of  the  Catho* 
lie  Church,  and  in  the  dogmas  inherited  from  Rome, 
scope  for  their  austere  piety,  and  their  longings  for  civil 
freedom.  But  their  creed  is  passing  away,  and  none 
arises  in  its  room.  I  think  no  man  can  go  with  his 
thoughts  about  him  into  one  of  our  churches,  without 


ADDRESS.  119 

feeling,  that  what  hold  the  public  worship  had  on  men  is 
gone,  or  going.  It  has  lost  its  ^rasp  on  the  affection 
of  the  good,  and  the  fear  of  the  bad.  In  the  country, 
neighborhoods,  halt-parishes  are  signing  off,  —  to  use  the 
local  term.  It  is  already  beginning  to  indicate  character 
and  religion  to  withdraw  from  the  religious  meetings. 
I  have  heard  a  devout  person,  who  prized  the  Sabbath, 
say  in  bitterness  of  heart,  "  On  Sundays,  it  seems  wicked 
to  go  to  church."  And  the  motive  that  holds  the  best 
there,  is  now  only  a  hope  and  a  waiting.  What  was 
once  a  mere  circumstance,  that  the  best  and  the  worst 
men  in  the  parish,  the  poor  and  the  rich,  the  learned 
and  the  ignorant,  young  and  old,  should  meet  one  day 
as  fellows  in  one  house,  in  sign  of  an  equal  right  in 
the  soul,  has  come  to  be  a  paramount  motive  for  going 
thither. 

My  friends,  in  these  two  errors,  I  think,  I  find  the 
causes  of  a  decaying  church  and  a  wasting  unbelief. 
And  what  greater  calamity  can  fall  upon  a  nation  than 
the  loss  of  worship?  Then  all  things  go  to  decay. 
Genius  leaves  the  temple,  to  haunt  the  senate,  or  the 
market.  Literature  becomes  frivolous.  Science  is  cold. 
The  eye  of  youth  is  not  lighted  by  the  hope  of  other 
worlds,  and  age  is  without  honor.  Society  lives  to  tri 
fles,  and  when  men  die,  we  do  not  mention  them. 

And  now,  my  brothers,  you  will  ask,  What  in  these  de 
sponding  days  can  be  done  by  us  ?  The  remedy  is  already 
declared  in  the  ground  of  our  complaint  of  the  Church. 
W  hmrn  rofttetnHho  Churoh  with  th^oul.  In  the 

soul,  then,  let  the  redemption  bq  sought- Wherever  a 

man  comes,  there  comes  revolution,  The  old  is  for 


120  ADDRESS. 

slaves.  When  a  man  comes,  all  books  are  legible,  all 
things  transparent,  all  religions  are  forms.  He  is  re 
ligious.  Man  is  the  wonder-worker.  He  is  seen  amid 
miracles.  All  men  bless  and  curse.  He  saith  yea  and 
nay,  only.  The  stationariness  of  religion ;  the  assump 
tion  that  the  age  of  inspiration  is  past,,  that  the  Bible 
is^n1nsp((l ;  the  fear  of  deg.rH'np1  *3">  rln^Frtftr-  "f  J^m^s 
by  representing^  him  as  a  man  ;  indicate  with  sufficient 
clearness  the  falsehood  of  our  theology.  It  is  the  office 
ofatrue  teacher  to  show  us  that  God  is.  not  was  :  that 
he  speak p.th.  not  spal^p..  The  true  Christianity  —  a  faith 
like  Christ's  in  the  infinitude  of  man  — js  lost.  None 
believeth  in  the  soul  of  man,  but  only  in  some  man  or 
person  old  and  departed.  Ah  me  !  no  man  goeth  alone. 
All  men  go  in  flocks  to  this  saint  or  that  poet,  avoiding 
the  God  who  seeth  in  secret ;  they  cannot  see  in  secret ; 
they  love  to  be  blind  in  public.  They  ^'jpk  gr>f>i'pfy  ™*f>* 
thjtn  their  soul^nd  frnnw  not,  %t  onp  smil.  qpd  |heir 
srml  i.'T^lfiffl'  fj^.n  f]in  whnlr  -rnrlri  See  how  nations 
and  races  flit  by  on  the  sea  of  time,  and  leave  no  ripple 
to  tell  where  they  floated  or  sunk,  and  one  good  soul 
shall  make  the  name  of  Moses,  or  of  Zeno,  or  of  Zoroas 
ter  reverend  forever.  None  assayeth  the  stern  ambition 
to  be  the  Self  of  the  nation,  and  of  nature,  but  each 
would  be  an  easy  secondary  to  some  Christian  scheme, 
or  sectarian  connection,  or  some  eminent  man.  Once 
leave  your  own  knowledge  of  God,  your  own  sentiment, 
and  take  secondary  knowledge,  as  St.  Paul's,  or  George 
Eox's,  or  Swedenborg's,  and  you  get  wide  from  God  with 
every  year  this  secondary  form  lasts,  and  if,  as  now,  for 
centuries,  —  the  chasm  yawns  to  that  breadth,  that  men 


ADDRESS.  121 

can  scarcely  be  convinced  there  is  in  them  anything 
divine. 

Let  me  admonish  you,  first  of  all,  to  go  alone ;  to  re 
fuse  the  good  models,  even  those  which  are  sacred  in  the 
imagination  of  men,  and  dare  to  WP.  find  without  medi- 
ator  or  veil.  Friends  enough  you  shall  find  who  will 
'hold  up  to  your  emulation  Wesleys  and  Qberlins,  Saints 
and  Prophets.  Thank  God.^jpr  these  goo3  men,  but 
say,  "  I  also  am  a  man."  Imitation  narmnr,  ^c\  ahnvp  l™  ^-< 

model.     The  imitfiilnr  ^i"irn  J-^"*-*^^  i^poiocc  medioc^. 
— i** •*** '  '  *  / 

"rTtyT  The  inventor  did  it  because  it  was  natural  to  him,     M 

ana  so  in  him  it  has  a  charm.     In  the  imitator,  s"ome-     Iff 
thing  else  is  natural,  and  he  bereaves  himself  of  his  own 
beatfty^to  come  nhnrt  ^f  o™/vM^r  jp»v.'o 

iourself  a  new-born  bard  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  —  cast 
behind  you  all  conformity,  and  acquaint  men  at  first  hand 
with  Deity.  Look  to  it  first  and  only,  that  fashion,  cus 
tom,  authority,  pleasure,  and  money  are  nothing  to  you, 

—  are  not  bandages  over  your  eyes,  that  you  cannot  see, 

—  but  live  with  the  privilege  of  the  immeasurable  mind. 
Not  too  anxious  to  visit  periodically  all  families  and  each 
family  in  your  parish  connection,  —  when  you  meet  one 
of  these  men  or  women,  be  to  them  a  divine  man ;  be  to 
them  thought  and  virtue  ;  let  their  timid  aspirations  find 
in  you  a  friend ;  let  their  trampled  instincts  be  genially 
tempted  out  in  your  atmosphere ;  let  their  doubts  know 
that  you  have  doubted,  and  their  wonder  feel  that  you 
have  wondered.    Jty  trusting 


gain  more  confidence  in  other  men.     For  all  our  penny- 
wisdom,  for  all  our  soul-destroying  slavery  to  habit,  it  is 
not  to  be  doubted,  that  all  men  have  sublime  thoughts  j 
6 


122  ADDRESS. 

that  all  men  value  the  few  real  hours  of  life  ;  they  love 
to  be  heard ;  they  love  to  be  caught  up  into  the  vision 
of  principles.  We  mark  with  light  in  the  memory  the 
few  interviews  we  have  had,  in  the  dreary  years  of  rou 
tine  and  of  sin,  with  souls  that  made  our  souls  wiser; 
that  spoke  what  we  thought;  that  told  us  what  we 
knew ;  that  gave  us  leave  to  be  what  we  inly  were. 
Discharge  to  men  the  priestly  office,  and,  present  or  ab 
sent,  you  shall  be  followed  with  their  love  as  by  an  angel. 
And,  to  this  end,  let  us  not  aim  at  common  degrees  of 
merit.  Can  we  not  leave,  to  such  as  love  it,  the  virtue 
that  glitters  for  the  commendation  of  society,  and  our 
selves  pierce  the  deep  solitudes  of  absolute  ability  and 
worth  ?  We  easily  come  up  to  the  standard  of  goodness 
in  society.  Society's  praise  can  be  cheaply  secured,  and 
almost  all  men  are  content  with  those  easy  merits ;  but 
the  instant  effect  of  conversing  with  God,  will  be  to  put 
them  away.  There  are  persons  who  are  not  actors,  not 
speakers,  but  influences  ;  persons  too  great  for  fame,  for 
display  ;  who  disdain  eloquence ;  to  whom  all  we  call  art 
and  artist,  seems  too  nearly  allied  to  show  and  by-ends, 
to  the  exaggeration  of  the  finite  and  selfish,  and  loss  of 
the  universal.  The  orators,  the  poets,  the  commanders, 
encroach  on  us  only  as  fair  women  do,  by  our  allowance 
and  homage.  Slight  them  by  preoccupation  of  mind, 
slight  them,  as  you  can  well  afford  to  do,  by  high  and 
universal  aims,  and  they  instantly  feel  that  you  have 
right,  and  that  it  is  in  lower  places  that  they  must  shine. 
They  also  feel  your  right ;  for  they  with  you  are  open 
to  the  influx  of  the  all-knowing  Spirit,  which  annihi 
lates  before  its  broad  noon  the  little  shades  and  grada' 


ADDRESS.  123 

tions  of  intelligence  in  the  compositions  we  call  wiser 
and  wisest. 

In  such  high  communion,  let  us  study  the  grand 
strokes  of  rectitude ;  a  bold  benevolence,  an  indepen 
dence  of  friends,  so  that  not  the  unjust  wishes  of  those 
who  love  us,  shall  impair  our  freedom,  but  we  shall  resist 
for  truth's  sake  the  freest  flow  of  kindness,  and  appeal  to 
sympathies  far  in  advance  ;  and  —  what  is  the  highest 
form  in  which  we  know  this  beautiful  element  —  a  cer 
tain  solidity  of  merit,  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  opin 
ion,  and  which  is  so  essentially  and  manifestly  virtue, 
that  it  is  taken  for  granted,  that  the  right,  the  brave,  the 
generous  step  will  be  taken  by  it,  and  nobody  thinks 
of  commending  it.  You  would  compliment  a  coxcomb 
doing  a  good  act,  but  you  would  not  praise  an  angel. 
The  silence  that  acceptsj^rit  flfi  t*10  mnnt  nntiiiml  thing  i , 
in  thewbFld,  is  th'eTiighest  applause.  Such  souls,  whenn** 
ITTCy  apptm,  diu  Ilia  Imperial  Guard  of  Virtue,  the  per 
petual  reserve,  the  dictators  of  fortune.  One  needs  not 
praise  their  courage,  — •  they  are  the  heart  and  soul  of 
nature.  0  my  friends,  there  are  resources  in  us  on 
which  we  have  not  drawn!  There  are  men  who  rise 
refreshed  on  hearing  a  threat ;  men  to  whom  a  crisis 
which  intimidates  and  paralyzes  the  majority,  —  demand 
ing  not  the  faculties  of  prudence  and  thrift,  but  com 
prehension,  immovableness,  the  readiness  of  sacrifice,  — 
comes  graceful  and  beloved  as  a  bride.  Napoleon  said 
of  Massena,  that  he  was  not  himself  until  the  battle 
began  to  go  against  him  ;  then,  when  the  dead  began  to 
fall  in  ranks  around  him,  awoke  his  powers  of  combina 
tion,  and  he  put  on  terror  and  victory  as  a  robe.  So  it 


124  ADDRESS. 

is  in  rugged  crises,  in  unweariable  endurance,  and  in 
aims  which  put  sympathy  out  of  question,  that  the  angel 
is  shown.  But  these  are  heights  that  we  can  scarce 
remember  and  look  up  to,  without  contrition  and  shame. 
Let  us  thank  God  that  such  things  exist. 

And  now  let  us  do  what  we  can  to  rekindle  the  smoul 
dering,  nigh-quenched  fire  on  the  altar.  The  evils  of 
the  church  that  now  is  are  manifest.  The  question  re 
turns,  What  shall  we  do  ?  I  confess,  all  attempts  to  pro 
ject  and  establish  a  Cultus  with  new  rites  and  forms, 
seem  to  me  vain.  Faith  makes  us,  and  not  we  it,  and 
faith  makes  its  own  forms.  All  attempts  to  contrive  a 
system  are  as  cold  as  the  new  worship  introduced  by  the 
French  to  the  goddess  of  Reason,  —  to-day,  pasteboard 
and  filigree,  and  ending  to-morrow  in  madness  and  mur 
der.  Rather  let  the  breath  of  new  life  be  breathed  by 
you  through  the  forms  already  existing.  For,  if  once 
you  are  alive,  you  shall  find  they  shall  become  plastic  and 
new.  The  rpmnrly-  tn  thrir  deformity  is.  first,  Crm1,  QT^ 
second,  soul,  and  evermore,  soul.  A  whole  popedom  of 
lorms,  one  pulsation  ot  virtue"  6an  uplift  and  vivify.  Two 
inestimable  advantages  Christianity  has  given  us  :  first, 
the  Sabbath,  the  jubilee  of  the  whole  world ;  whose  light 
dawns  welcome  alike  into  the  closet  of  the  philosopher, 
into  the  garret  of  toil,  and  into  prison  cells,  and  every 
where  suggests,  even  to  the  vile,  the  dignity  of  spiritual 
being.  Let  it  stand  forevermore,  a  temple,  which  new 
w  faith,  new  sight,  shall  restore  to  more  than  its 
first  splendor  to  mankind.  And  secondly,  the  institution 
of  preaching,  — the  speech  of  man  to  men,  —  essentially 
the  most  flexible  oT  alfTTrgans,  of  all  forms.  What  hin- 


ADDEESS.  125 

ders  that  now,  everywhere,  in  pulpits,  in  lecture-rooms, 
in  houses,  in  fields,  wherever  the  invitation  of  men  or 
your  own  occasions  lead  you,  you  speak  the  very  truth, 
as  your  life  and  conscience  teach  it,  and  cheer  the  wait 
ing,  tainting  hearts  of  men  with  new  hope  and  new  reve 
lation  ? 

I  look  for  the  hour  when  that  supreme  Beauty,  which 
ravished  the  souls  of  those  Eastern  men,  and  chiefly  of 
those  Hebrews,  and  through  their  lips  spoke  oracles  to 
all  time,  shall  speak  in  the  West  also.  The  Hebrew  and 
Greek  Scriptures  contain  immortal  sentences,  that  have 
been  bread  of  life  to  millions.  But  they  have  no  epical 
integrity  ;  are  fragmentary  ;  are  not  shown  in  their  oi'der 
to  the  intellect.  I  look  for  the  new  Teacher,  that  shall 
follow  so  far  those  shining  laws,  that  he  shall  see  them 
come  full  circle  ;  shall  see  their  rounding  complete  grace  ; 
see  the  world  t.Q  hp.  the,  mirror  pj*  tl^R  snnl 


the  identity  of  the  law  ofgra.vit.ai.inn  wif.li  purity  of  Ijeart,  ; 

and  shall  show  that  the  Ou^ht,  that  Duty,  is  one  thing 
with  Science,  with  Beauty,  and  with  Joy. 


LITERARY   ETHICS. 


AN  ORATION  DELIVERED  BEFORE  THE  LITERARY  SOCIETIES 
or  DARTMOUTH  COLLEGE,  JULY  24,  1838. 


OEATION. 


GENTLEMEN:  — 

The  invitation  to  address  you  this  day,  with  which  you 
have  honored  me,  was  a  call  so  welcome,  that  I  made 
haste  to  obey  it.  A  summons  to  celebrate  with  scholars 
a  literary  festival,  is  so  alluring  to  me,  as  to  overcome 
the  doubts  I  might  well  entertain  of  my  ability  to  bring 
you  any  thought  worthy  of  your  attention.  I  have 
reached  the  middle  age  of  man ;  yet  I  believe  I  am  not 
less  glad  or  sanguine  at  the  meeting  of  scholars,  than 
when,  a  boy,  I  first  saw  the  graduates  of  my  own  Col 
lege  assembled  at  their  anniversary.  Neither  years  nor 
books  have  yet  availed  to  extirpate  a  prejudice  then 
rooted  in  me,  that  a  scholar  is  the  favorite  of  Heaven 
and  earth,  the  excellency  of  his  country,  the  happiest  of 
men.  His  duties  lead  him  directly  into  the  holy  ground 
where  other  men's  aspirations  only  point.  His  successes 
are  occasions  of  the  purest  joy  to  all  men.  Eyes  is  he  to 
the  blind ;  feet  is  he  to  the  lame.  His  failures,  if  he  is 
worthy,  are  inlets  to  higher  advantages.  And  because 
the  scholar,  by  every  thought  he  thinks,  extends  his 
dominion  into  the  general  mind  of  men,  he  is  not  one, 
but  many.  The  few  scholars  in  each  country,  whose 
genius  I  know,  seem  to  me  not  individuals,  but  societies ; 
and  when  events  occur  of  great  import,  I  count  over 
6*  i 


130  LITERARY    ETHICS. 

these  representatives  of  opinion,  whom  they  will  affect, 
as  if  I  were  counting  nations.  And,  even  if  his  results 
were  incommunicable,  if  they  abode  in  his  own  spirit,  the 
intellect  hath  somewhat  so  sacred  in  its  possessions,  that 
the  fact  of  his  existence  and  pursuits  would  be  a  happy 
omen. 

Meantime  I  know  that  a  very  different  estimate  of  the 
scholar's  profession  prevails  in  this  country,  and  the  im 
portunity,  with  which  society  presses  its  claim  upon 
young  men,  tends  to  pervert  the  views  of  the  youth  in 
respect  to  the  culture  of  the  intellect.  Hence  the  histor 
ical  failure,  on  which  Europe  and  America  have  so  freely 
commented.  This  country  has  not  fulfilled  what  seemed 
the  reasonable  expectation  of  mankind.  Men  looked, 
when  all  feudal  straps  and  bandages  were  snapped 
asunder,  that  nature,  too  long  the  mother  of  dwarfs, 
should  reimburse  itself  by  a  brood  of  Titans,  who  should 
laugh  and  leap  in  the  continent,  and  run  up  the  moun 
tains  of  the  West  with  the  errand  of  genius  and  of  love. 
But  the  mark  of  American  merit  in  painting,  in  sculp 
ture,  in  poetry,  in  fiction,  in  eloquence,  seems  to  be  a 
certain  grace  without  grandeur,  and  itself  not  new  but 
derivative ;  a  vase  of  fair  outline,  but  empty,  —  which 
whoso  sees,  may  fill  with  what  wit  and  character  is  in 
him,  but  which  does  not,  like  the  charged  cloud,  over 
flow  with  terrible  beauty,  and  emit  lightnings  on  all 
beholders. 

I  will  not  lose  myself  in  the  desultory  questions,  wha*- 
are  the  limitations,  and  what  the  causes  of  the  fact.  It 
suffices  me  to  say,  in  general,  that  the  diffidence  of  man 
kind  in  the  soul  has  crept  over  the  American  mind; 


LITERARY    ETHICS.  131 

that-  men  here,  as  elsewhere,  are  indisposed  to  innova 
tion,  and  prefer  any  antiquity,  any  usage,  any  livery 
productive  of  ease  or  profit,  to  the  unproductive  service 
of  thought. 

Yet,  in  every  sane  hour,  the  service  of  thought  ap 
pears  reasonable,  the  despotism  of  the  senses  insane. 
The  scholar  may  lose  himself  in  schools,  in  words,  and 
become  a  pedant ;  but  when  he  comprehends  his  duties, 
he  above  all  men  is  a  realist,  and  converses  with  things. 
For,  the  scholar  is  the  student  of  the  world,  and  of  what 
worth  the  world  is,  and  with  what  emphasis  it  accosts 
the  soul  of  man,  such  is  the  worth,  such  the  call  of  the 
scholar. 

The  want  of  the  times,  and  the  propriety  of  this  anni 
versary,  concur  to  draw  attention  to  the  doctrine  of 
Literary  Ethics.  What  I  have  to  say  on  that  doctrine 
distributes  itself  under  the  topics  of  the  resources,  the 
subject,  and  the  discipline  of  the  scholar. 

I.  The  resources  of  the  scholar  are  proportioned  to 
his  confidence  in  the  attributes  of  the  Intellect.  The 
resources  of  the  scholar  are  coextensive  with  nature  and 
truth,  yet  can  never  be  his,  unless  claimed  by  him  with 
an  equal  greatness  of  mind.  He  cannot  know  them 
until  he  has  beheld  with  awe  the  infinitude  and  imper 
sonality  of  the  intellectual  power.  When  he  has  seen, 
that  it  is  not  his,  nor  any  man's,  but  that  it  is  the  soul 
which  made  the  world,  and  that  it  is  all  accessible  to 
him,  he  will  know  that  he,  as  its  minister,  may  rightfully 
hold  all  things  subordinate  and  answerable  to  it.  A 
divine  pilgrim  in  nature,  all  things  attend  his  steps, 


132  LITERARY    ETHICS. 

Over  him  stream  the  flying  constellations ;  over  him 
streams  Time,  as  they,  scarcely  divided  into  months  and 
years.  He  inhales  the  year  as  a  vapor;  its  fragrant 
midsummer  breath,  its  sparkling  January  heaven.  And 
so  pass  into  his  mind,  in  bright  transfiguration,  the 
grand  events  of  history,  to  take  a  new  order  and  scale 
from  him.  He  is  the  world ;  and  the  epochs  and  heroes 
of  chronology  are  pictorial  images,  in  which  his  thoughts 
are  told.  There  is  no  event  but  sprung  somewhere  from 
the  soul  of  man;  and  therefore  there  is  none  but  the 
soul  of  man  can  interpret.  Every  presentiment  of  the 
mind  is  executed  somewhere  in  a  gigantic  fact.  What 
else  is  Greece,  Rome,  England,  Prance.  St.  Helena  ? 
What  else  are  churches,  literatures,  empires  ?  The  new 
man  must  feel  that  he  is  new,  and  has  not  come  into  the 
world  mortgaged  to  the  opinions  and  usages  of  Europe, 
and  Asia,  and  Egypt.  The  sense  of  spiritual  inde 
pendence  is  like  the  lovely  varnish  of  the  dew,  whereby 
the  old,  hard,  peaked  earth,  and  its  old  selfsame  produc 
tions,  are  made  new  every  morning,  and  shining  with 
the  last  touch  of  the  artist's  hand.  A  false  humility,  a 
complaisance  to  reigning  schools,  or  to  the  wisdom  of 
antiquity,  must  not  defraud  me  of  supreme  possession 
of  this  hour.  If  any  person  have  less  love  of  liberty, 
and  less  jealousy  to  guard  his  integrity,  shall  he  there 
fore  dictate  to  you  and  me  ?  Say  to  such  doctors,  We 
are  thankful  to  you,  as  we  are  to  history,  to  the  pyramids 
and  the  authors;  but  now  our  day  is  come;  we  have 
been  born  out  of  the  eternal  silence ;  and  now  will  we 
live,  —  live  for  ourselves,  —  and  not  as  the  pall-bearers 
of  a  funeral,  but  as  the  upholders  and  creators  of  our 


LITEEARY    ETHICS.  133 

age ;  and  neither  Greece  nor  Rome,  nor  the  three  Uni 
ties  of  Aristotle,  nor  the  three  Kings  of  Cologne,  nor  the 
College  of  the  Sorbonne,  nor  the  Edinburgh  Review,  is 
to  command  any  longer.  Now  that  we  are  here,  we  will 
put  our  own  interpretation  on  things,  and  our  own 
things  for  interpretation.  Please  himself  with  complai 
sance  who  will,  —  for  me,  things  must  take  my  scale, 
not  I  theirs.  I  will  say  with  the  warlike  king,  "  God 
gave  me  this  crown,  and  the  whole  world  shall  not  take 
it  away." 

The  whole  value  of  history,  of  biography,  is  to  in 
crease  my  self-trust,  by  demonstrating  what  man  can 
be  and  do.  This  is  the  moral  of  the  Plutarchs,  the 
Cudworths,  the  Tennemanns,  who  give  us  the  story  of 
men  or  of  opinions.  Any  history  of  philosophy  forti 
fies  my  faith,  by  showing  me,  that  what  high  dogmas  I 
had  supposed  were  the  rare  and  late  fruit  of  a  cumula 
tive  culture,  and  only  now  possible  to  some  recent  Kant 
or  Eichte  —  were  the  prompt  improvisations  of  the  ear 
liest  inquirers ;  of  Parmenides,  Heraclitus,  and  Xeno- 
phanes.  In  view  of  these  students,  the  soul  seems  to 
whisper,  "  There  is  a  better  way  than  this  indolent  learn 
ing  of  another.  Leave  me  alone  ;  do  not  teach  me  out 
of  Leibnitz  or  Schelling,  and  I  shall  find  it  all  out  my 
self." 

Still  more  do  we  owe  to  biography  the  fortification  of 
our  hope.  If  you  would  know  the  power  of  character, 
see  how  much  you  would  impoverish  the  world,  if  you 
could  take  clean  out  of  history  the  lives  of  Milton,  Shak- 
speare,  and  Plato,  —  these  three,  and  cause  them  not  to 
be.  See  you  not,  how  much  less  the  power  of  man  would 


134  LITERARY    ETHICS. 

be  ?  I  console  myself  in  the  poverty  of  my  thoughts,  in 
the  paucity  of  great  men,  in  the  malignity  and  dulness  of 
the  nations,  by  falling  back  on  these  sublime  recollections, 
and  seeing  what  the  prolific  soul  could  beget  on  actual 
nature  ;  —  seeing  that  Plato  was,  and  Shakspeare,  and 
Milton,  —  three  irrefragable  facts.  Then  I  dare  ;  I  also 
will  essay  to  be.  The  humblest,  the  most  hopeless,  in 
view  of  these  radiant  facts,  may  now  theorize  and  hope. 
In  spite  of  all  the  rueful  abortions  that  squeak  and  gib 
ber  in  the  street,  in  spite  of  slumber  and  guilt,  in  spite 
of  the  army,  the  bar-room,  and  the  jail,  have  been  these 
glorious  manifestations  of  the  mind  ;  and  I  will  thank  my 
great  brothers  so  truly  for  the  admonition  of  their  being, 
as  to  endeavor  also  to  be  just  and  brave,  to  aspire  and 
to  speak.  Plotinus  too,  and  Spinoza,  and  the  immortal 
bards  of  philosophy,  —  that  which  they  have  written  out 
with  patient  courage,  makes  me  bold.  No  more  will  I 
dismiss,  with  haste,  the  visions  which  flash  and  sparkle 
across  my  sky  ;  but  observe  them,  approach  them,  domes 
ticate  them,  brood  on  them,  and  draw  out  of  the  past, 
genuine  life  for  the  present  hour. 

To  feel  the  full  value  of  these  lives,  as  occasions  of 
hope  and  provocation,  you  must  come  to  know,  that  each 
admirable  genius  is  but  a  successful  diver  in  that  sea 
whose  floor  of  pearls  is  all  your  own.  The  impoverish 
ing  philosophy  of  ages  has  laid  stress  on  the  distinctions 
of  the  individual,  and  not  on  the  universal  attributes  of 
man.  The  youth,  intoxicated  with  his  admiration  of  a 
hero,  fails  to  see,  that  it  is  only  a  projection  of  his  own 
soul  which  he  admires.  In  solitude,  in  a  remote  village, 
the  ardent  youth  loiters  and  mourns.  With  inflamed 


LITERARY    ETHICS.  135 

eye,  in  this  sleeping  wilderness,  he  has  read  the  story 
of  the  Emperor  Charles  the  Fifth,  until  his  fancy  has 
brought  home  to  the  surrounding  woods  the  faint  roar 
of  cannonades  in  the  Milanese,  and  marches  in  Germany. 
He  is  curious  concerning  that  man's  day.  What  filled 
it  ?  the  crowded  orders,  the  stern  decisions,  the  foreign 
despatches,  the  Castilian  etiquette  ?  The  soul  answers, 
—  Behold  his  day  here  !  In  the  sighing  of  these  woods, 
in  the  quiet  of  these  gray  fields,  in  the  cool  breeze  that 
sings  out  of  these  northern  mountains ;  in  the  workmen, 
the  boys,  the  maidens,  you  meet,  —  in  the  hopes  of  the 
morning,  the  ennui  of  noon,  and  sauntering  of  the  after 
noon  ;  in  the  disquieting  comparisons ;  in  the  regrets  at 
want  of  vigor ;  in  the  great  idea,  and  the  puny  execu 
tion  ;  —  behold  Charles  the  Fifth's  day  ;  another,  yet  the 
same ;  behold  Chatham's,  Hampden's,  Bayard's,  Alfred's, 
Scipio's,  Pericles's  day,  —  day  of  all  that  are  bom  of  wo 
men.  The  difference  of  circumstance  is  merely  costume. 
I  am  tasting  the  selfsame  life,  —  its  sweetness,  its  great 
ness,  its  pain,  which  I  so  admire  in  other  men.  Do  not 
foolishly  ask  of  the  inscrutable,  obliterated  past,  what  it 
cannot  tell,  —  the  details  of  that  nature,  of  that  day, 
called  Byron,  or  Burke  ;' —  but  ask  it  of  the  enveloping 
Now  ;  the  more  quaintly  you  inspect  its  evanescent  beau 
ties,  its  wonderful  details,  its  spiritual  causes,  its  astound 
ing  whole,  —  so  much  the  more  you  master  the  biogra 
phy  of  this  hero,  and  that,  and  every  hero.  Be  lord  of 
a  day,  through  wisdom  and  justice,  and  you  can  put  up 
your  history  books. 

An  intimation  of  these  broad  rights  is  familiar  in  the 
sense  of  injury  which  men  feel  in  the  assumption  of  any 


136  LITERARY    ETHICS. 

man  to  limit  their  possible  progress.  We  resent  all  crit 
icism,  which  denies  us  anything  that  lies  in  our  line  of 
advance.  Say  to  the  man  of  letters,  that  he  cannot 
paint  a  Transfiguration,  or  build  a  steamboat,  or  be  a 
grand-marshal,  —  and  he  will  not  seem  to  himself  depre 
ciated.  But  deny  to  him  any  quality  of  literary  or  meta 
physical  power,  and  he  is  piqued.  Concede  to  him 
genius,  which  is  a  sort  of  Stoical  plenum  annulling  the 
comparative,  and  he  is  content ;  but  concede  him  talents 
never  so  rare,  denying  him  genius,  and  he  is  aggrieved. 
What  does  this  mean  ?  Why  simply,  that  the  soul  has 
assurance,  by  instincts  and  presentiments,  of  all  power 
in  the  direction  of  its  ray,  as  well  as  of  the  special  skills 
it  has  already  acquired. 

In  order  to  a  knowledge  of  the  resources  of  the  scholar, 
we  must  not  rest  in  the  use  of  slender  accomplishments, 
—  of  faculties  to  do  this  and  that  other  feat  with  words ; 
but  we  must  pay  our  vows  to  the  highest  power,  and 
pass,  if  it  be  possible,  by  assiduous  love  and  watching, 
into  the  visions  of  absolute  truth.  The  growth  of  the 
intellect  is  strictly  analogous  in  all  individuals.  It  is 
larger  reception.  Able  men,  in  general,  have  good  dis 
positions,  and  a  respect  for  justice  ;  because  an  able  man 
is  nothing  else  than  a  good,  free,  vascular  organization, 
whereinto  the  universal  spirit  freely  flows;  so  that  his 
fund  of  justice  is  not  only  vast,  but  infinite.  All  men, 
in  the  abstract,  are  just  and  good ;  what  hinders  them 
in  the  particular  is,  the  momentary  predominance  of  the 
finite  and  individual  over  the  general  truth.  The  condi 
tion  of  our  incarnation  in  a  private  self,  seems  to  be  a  per 
petual  tendency  to  prefer  the  private  law,  to  obey  the  pri- 


LITERARY     ETHICS.  137 

vate  impulse,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  law  of  universal  be 
ing.  The  hero  is  great  by  means  of  the  predominance  of 
the  universal  nature ;  he  has  only  to  open  his  mouth,  and 
it  speaks ;  he  has  only  to  be  forced  to  act,  and  it  acts. 
All  men  catch  the  word,  or  embrace  the  deed,  with  the 
heart,  for  it  is  verily  theirs  as  much  as  his ;  but  in  them 
this  disease  of  an  excess  of  organization  cheats  them  of 
equal  issues.  Nothing  is  more  simple  than  greatness ; 
indeed,  to  be  simple  is  to  be  great.  The  vision  of  genius 
comes  by  renouncing  the  too  officious  activity  of  the  un 
derstanding,  and  giving  leave  and  amplest  privilege  to  the 
spontaneous  sentiment.  Out  of  this  must  all  that  is  alive 
and  genial  in  thought  go.  Men  grind  and  grind  in  the 
mill  of  a  truism,  and  nothing  comes  out  but  what  was 
put  in.  But  the  moment  they  desert  the  tradition  for 
a  spontaneous  thought,  then  poetry,  wit,  hope,  virtue, 
learning,  anecdote,  all  flock  to  their  aid.  Observe  the 
phenomenon  of  extempore  debate.  A  man  of  cultivated 
mind,  but  reserved  habits,  sitting  silent,  admires  the 
miracle  of  free,  impassioned,  picturesque  speech,  in  the 
man  addressing  an  assembly;  —  a  state  of  being  and 
power,  how  unlike  his  own  !  Presently  his  own  emotion 
rises  to  his  lips,  and  overflows  in  speech.  He  must  also 
rise  and  say  somewhat.  Once  embarked,  once  having 
overcome  the  novelty  of  the  situation,  he  finds  it  just  as 
easy  and  natural  to  speak,  —  to  speak  with  thoughts, 
with  pictures,  with  rhythmical  balance  of  sentences,  —  as 
it  was  to  sit  silent ;  for,  it  needs  not  to  do,  but  to  suffer ; 
he  only  adjusts  himself  to  the  free  spirit  which  gladly 
utters  itself  through  him;  and  motion  is  as  easy  as 
rest. 


138  LITERARY    ETHICS. 

II.  I  pass  now  to  consider  the  task  offered  to  the  in 
tellect  of  this  country.  The  view  I  have  taken  of  the 
resources  of  the  scholar  presupposes  a  subject  as  broad. 
We  do  not  seem  to  have  imagined  its  riches.  We  have 
not  heeded  the  invitation  it  holds  out.  To  be  as  good  a 
scholar  as  Englishmen  are ;  to  have  as  much  learning  as 
our  contemporaries  ;  to  have  written  a  book  that  is  read ; 
satisfies  us.  We  assume  that  all  thought  is  already  long 
ago  adequately  set  down  in  books,  —  all  imaginations  in 
poems ;  and  what  we  say,  we  only  throw  in  as  confirm 
atory  of  this  supposed  complete  body  of  literature.  A 
very  shallow  assumption.  Say  rather,  all  literature  is  yet 
to  be  written.  Poetry  has  scarce  chanted  its  first  song. 
The  perpetual  admonition  of  nature  to  us  is,  "  The  world 
is  new,  untried.  Do  not  believe  the  past.  I  give  you 
the  universe  a  virgin  to-day." 

By  Latin  and  English  poetry,  we  were  born  and  bred 
in  an  oratorio  of  praises  of  nature,  —  flowers,  birds, 
mountains,  sun,  and  moon  ;  —  yet  the  naturalist  of  this 
hour  finds  that  he  knows  nothing,  by  all  their  poems,  of 
any  of  these  fine  things  ;  that  he  has  conversed  with  the 
mere  surface  and  show  of  them  all ;  and  of  their  essence, 
or  of  their  history,  knows  nothing.  Further  inquiry 
will  discover  that  nobody,  that  not  these  chanting  poets 
themselves,  knew  anything  sincere  of  these  handsome 
natures  they  so  commended ;  that  they  contented  them 
selves  with  the  passing  chirp  of  a  bird,  that  they  saw 
one  or  two  mornings,  and  listlessly  looked  at  sunsets, 
and  repeated  idly  these  few  glimpses  in  their  song.  But 
go  into  the  forest,  you  shall  find  all  new  and  undescribed. 
The  screaming  of  the  wild  geese  flying  by  night;  the 


LITERARY    ETHICS.  139 

thin  note  of  the  companionable  titmouse,  in  the  winter 
day  ;  the  fall  of  swarms  of  flies,  in  autumn,  from  com 
bats  high  in  the  air,  pattering  down  on  the  leaves  like 
rain  ;  the  angry  hiss  of  the  wood-birds  ;  the  pine  throw 
ing  out  its  pollen  for  the  benefit  of  the  next  century  ;  the 
turpentine  exuding  from  the  tree ;  —  and,  indeed,  any 
vegetation;  any  animation;  any  and  all,  are  alike  un- 
attempted.  The  man  who  stands  on  the  sea-shore,  or 
who  rambles  in  the  woods,  seems  to  be  the  first  man  that 
ever  stood  on  the  shore,  or  entered  a  grove,  his  sensa 
tions  and  his  world  are  so  novel  and  strange.  Whilst 
I  read  the  poets,  I  think  that  nothing  new  can  be  said 
about  morning  and  evening.  But  when  I  see  the  day 
break,  I  am  not  reminded  of  these  Homeric,  or  Shak- 
spearian,  or  Miltonic,  or  Chaucerian  pictures.  No  ;  but 
I  feel  perhaps  the  pain  of  an  alien  world ;  a  world  not 
yet  subdued  by  the  thought ;  or,  I  am  cheered  by  the 
moist,  warm,  glittering,  budding,  melodious  hour  that 
takes  down  the  narrow  walls  of  my  soul,  and  extends  its 
life  and  pulsation  to  the  very  horizon.  That  is  morning, 
to  cease  for  a  bright  hour  to  be  a  prisoner  of  this  sickly 
body,  and  to  become  as  large  as  nature. 

The  noonday  darkness  of  the  American  forest,  the 
deep,  echoing,  aboriginal  woods,  where  the  living  col 
umns  of  the  oak  and  fir  tower  up  from  the  ruins  of  the 
trees  of  the  last  millennium ;  where,  from  year  to  year, 
the  eagle  and  the  crow  see  no  intruder;  the  pines, 
bearded  with  savage  moss,  yet  touched  with  grace  by  the 
violets  at  their  feet;  the  broad,  cold  lowland,  which 
forms  its  coat  of  vapor  with  the  stillness  of  subterranean 
crystallization ;  and  where  the  traveller,  amid  the  repul- 


140  LITERARY    ETHICS. 

sive  plants  that  are  native  in  the  swamp,  thinks  with 
pleasing  terror  of  the  distant  town  ;  this  beauty,  —  hag 
gard  and  desert  beauty,  which  the  sun  and  the  moon,  the 
snow  and  the  rain,  repaint  and  vary,  has  never  been  re 
corded  by  art,  yet  is  not  indifferent  to  any  passenger. 
All  men  are  poets  at  heart.  They  serve  Nature  for  bread, 
but  her  loveliness  overcomes  them  sometimes.  What 
mean  these  journeys  to  Niagara ;  these  pilgrims  to  the 
White  Hills  ?  Men  believe  in  the  adaptations  of  utility, 
always  :  in  the  mountains,  they  may  believe  in  the  adap 
tations  of  the  eye.  Undoubtedly,  the  changes  of  geol 
ogy  have  a  relation  to  the  prosperous  sprouting  of  the 
corn  and  peas  in  my  kitchen-garden;  but  not  less  is 
there  a  relation  of  beauty  between  my  soul  and  the  dim 
crags  of  Agiocochook  up  there  in  the  clouds.  Every 
man,  when  this  is  told,  hearkens  with  joy,  and  yet  his 
own  conversation  with  nature  is  still  unsung. 

Is  it  otherwise  with  civil  history  ?  Is  it  not  the  les 
son  of  our  experience  that  every  man,  were  life  long 
enough,  would  write  history  for  himself?  What  else  do 
these  volumes  of  extracts  and  manuscript  commentaries, 
that  every  scholar  writes,  indicate  ?  Greek  history  is 
one  thing  to  me ;  another  to  you.  Since  the  birth  of 
Niebuhr  and  Wolf,  Roman  and  Greek  History  have  been 
written  anew.  Since  Carlyle  wrote  Erench  History,  we 
see  that  no  history,  that  we  have,  is  safe,  but  a  new  clas 
sifier  shall  give  it  new  -and  more  philosophical  arrange 
ment.  Thucydides,  Livy,  have  only  provided  materials. 
The  moment  a  man  of  genius  pronounces  the  name  of 
the  Pelasgi,  of  Athens,  of  the  Etrurian,  of  the  Roman 
people,  we  see  their  state  under  a  new  aspect.  As  in 


LITERARY    ETHICS.  141 

poetry  and  history,  so  in  the  other  departments.  There 
are  few  masters  or  none.  Religion  is  yet  to  be  settled 
on  its  fast  foundations  in  the  breast  of  man  ;  and  politics, 
and  philosophy,  and  letters,  and  art.  As  yet  we  have 
nothing  but  tendency  and  indication. 

This  starting,  this  warping  of  the  best  literary  works 
from  the  adamant  of  nature,  is  especially  observable  in 
philosophy.  Let  it  take  what  tone  of  pretension  it  will, 
to  this  complexion  must  it  come  at  last.  Take,  for  ex 
ample,  the  French  Eclecticism,  which  Cousin  esteems  so 
conclusive ;  there  is  an  optical  illusion  in  it.  It  avows 
great  pretensions.  It  looks  as  if  they  had  all  truth,  in 
taking  all  the  systems,  and  had  nothing  to  do,  but  to  sift 
and  wash  and  strain,  and  the  gold  and  diamonds  would 
remain  in  the  last  colander.  But  Truth  is  such  a  fly 
away,  such  a  slyboots,  so  untransportable  and  unbarrela- 
ble  a  commodity,  that  it  is  as  bad  to  catch  as  light. 
Shut  the  shutters  never  so  quick,  to  keep  all  the  light 
in,  it  is  all  in  vain ;  it  is  gone  before  you  can  cry,  Hold. 
And  so  it  happens  with  our  philosophy.  Translate,  col 
late,  distil  all  the  systems,  it  steads  you  nothing;  for 
truth  will  not  be  compelled,  in  any  mechanical  manner. 
But  the  first  observation  you  make,  in  the  sincere  act  of 
your  nature,  though  on  the  veriest  trifle,  may  open  a  new 
view  of  nature  and  of  man,  that,  like  a  menstruum,  sh°ll 
dissolve  all  theories  in  it ;  shall  take  up  Greece,  Rome, 
Stoicism,  Eclecticism,  and  what  not,  as  mere  data  and 
food  for  analysis,  and  dispose  of  your  world-containing 
system,  as  a  very  little  unit.  A  profound  thought,  any 
where,  classifies  all  things ;  a  profound  thought  will  lift 
Olympus.  The  book  of  philosophy  is  only  a  fact,  and 


142  LITERARY    ETHICS. 

no  more  inspiring  fact  than  another,  and  no  less ;  but  a 
wise  man  will  never  esteem  it  anything  final  and  tran 
scending.  Go  and  talk  with  a  man  of  genius,  and  the 
first  word  he  utters  sets  all  your  so-called  knowledge 
afloat  and  at  large.  Then  Plato,  Bacon,  Kant,  and  the 
Eclectic  Cousin,  condescended  instantly  to  be  men  and 
mere  facts. 

I  by  no  means  aim,  in  these  remarks,  to  disparage  the 
merit  of  these  or  of  any  existing  compositions ;  I  only 
say  that  any  particular  portraiture  does  not  in  any  man 
ner  exclude  or  forestall  a  new  attempt,  but,  when  con 
sidered  by  the  soul,  warps  and  shrinks  away.  The 
inundation  of  the  spirit  sweeps  away  before  it  all  our 
little  architecture  of  wit  and  memory,  as  straws  and 
straw-huts  before  the  torrent.  Works  of  the  intellect 
are  great  only  by  comparison  with  each  other ;  Ivanhoe 
and  Waverley  compared  with  Castle  Radcliffe  and  the 
Porter  novels ;  but  nothing  is  great,  —  not  mighty  Homer 
and  Milton,  —  beside  the  infinite  Reason.  It  carries 
them  away  as  a  flood.  They  are  as  a  sleep. 

Thus  is  justice  done  to  each  generation  and  individ 
ual, —  wisdom  teaching  man  that  he  shall  not  hate,  or 
fear,  or  mimic  his  ancestors;  that  he  shall  not  bewail 
himself,  as  if  the  world  was  old,  and  thought  was  spent, 
and  he  was  born  into  the  dotage  of  things ;  for,  by  virtue 
of  the  Deity,  thought  renews  itself  inexhaustibly  every 
day,  and  the  thing  whereon  it  shines,  though  it  were 
dust  and  sand,  is  a  new  subject  with  countless  relations. 

III.  Having  thus  spoken  of  the  resources  and  the 
subject  of  the  scholar,  out  of  the  same  faith  proceeds 


LITERARY    ETHICS.  143 

also  the  rule  of  his  ambition  and  life.  Let  him  know 
that  the  world  is  his,  but  he  must  possess  it  by  putting 
himself  into  harmony  with  the  constitution  of  things. 
He  must  be  a  solitary,  laborious,  modest,  and  charitable 
soul. 

He  must  embrace  solitude  as  a  bride.  He  must  have 
his  glees  and  his  glooms  alone.  His  own  estimate  must 
be  measure  enough,  his  own  praise  reward  enough  for 
him.  And  why  must  the  student  be  solitary  and  silent  ? 
That  he  may  become  acquainted  with  his  thoughts.  If 
he  pines  in  a  lonely  place,  hankering  for  the  crowd,  for 
display,  he  is  not  in  the  lonely  place ;  his  heart  is  in  the 
market ;  he  does  not  see ;  he  does  not  hear ;  he  does  not 
think.  But  go  cherish  your  soul ;  expel  companions  ; 
set  your  habits  to  a  life  of  solitude ;  then,  will  the  facul 
ties  rise  fair  and  full  within,  like  forest  trees  and  field 
flowers;  you  will  have  results,  which,  when  you  meet 
your  fellow-men,  you  can  communicate,  and  they  will 
gladly  receive.  Do  not  go  into  solitude  only  that  you 
may  presently  come  into  public.  Such  solitude  denies 
itself,  is  public  and  stale.  The  public  can  get  public 
experience,  but  they  wish  the  scholar  to  replace  to  them 
those  private,  sincere,  divine  experiences,  of  which  they 
have  been  defrauded  by  dwelling  in  the  street.  It  is  the 
noble,  manlike,  just  thought,  which  is  the  superiority 
demanded  of  you,  and  not  crowds  but  solitude  confers 
this  elevation.  Not  insulation  of  place,  but  indepen 
dence  of  spirit  is  essential,  and  it  is  only  as  the  garden, 
the  cottage,  the  forest,  and  the  rock  are  a  sort  of  me 
chanical  aids  to  this,  that  they  are  of  value.  Think 
alone,  and  all  places  are  friendly  and  sacred.  The  poets 


144  LITERARY    ETHICS. 

who  have  lived  in  cities  have  been  hermits  still.  Inspira 
tion  makes  solitude  anywhere.  Pindar,  Raphael,  Angelo, 
Drydeii,  De  Stael,  dwell  in  crowds,  it  may  be,  but  the  in 
stant  thought  comes,  the  crowd  grows  dim  to  their  eye  ; 
their  eye  fixes  on  the  horizon,  —  on  vacant  space  ;  they 
forget  the  bystanders;  they  spurn  personal  relations; 
they  deal  with  abstractions,  with  verities,  with  ideas. 
They  are  alone  with  the  mind. 

Of  course,  I  would  not  have  any  superstition  about 
solitude.  Let  the  youth  study  the  uses  of  solitude  and 
of  society.  Let  him  use  both,  not  serve  either.  The  rea 
son  why  an  ingenuous  soul  shuns  society,  is  to  the  end 
of  finding  society.  It  repudiates  the  false,  out  of  love 
of  the  true.  You  can  very  soon  learn  all  that  society 
can  teach  you  for  one  while.  Its  foolish  routine,  an  in 
definite  multiplication  of  balls,  concerts,  rides,  theatres, 
can  teach  you  no  more  than  a  few  can.  Then  accept  the 
hint  of  shame,  of  spiritual  emptiness  and  waste,  which 
true  nature  gives  you,  and  retire,  and  hide ;  lock  the 
door ;  shut  the  shutters ;  then  welcome  falls  the  im 
prisoning  rain,  —  dear  hermitage  of  nature.  Re-collect 
the  spirits.  Have  solitary  prayer  and  praise.  Digest 
and  correct  the  past  experience ;  and  blend  it  with  the 
new  and  divine  life. 

You  will  pardon  me,  Gentlemen,  if  I  say,  I  think  that 
we  have  need  of  a  more  rigorous  scholastic  rule ;  such  an 
asceticism,  I  mean,  as  only  the  hardihood  and  devotion 
of  the  scholar  himself  can  enforce.  We  live  in  the  sun 
and  on  the  surface,  —  a  thin,  plausible,  superficial  exist 
ence,  and  talk  of  muse  and  prophet,  of  art  and  creation. 
But  out  of  our  shallow  and  frivolous  way  of  life,  how 


LITERARY    ETHICS.  145 

can  greatness  ever  grow  ?  Come  now,  let  us  go  and 
be  dumb.  Let  us  sit  with  our  hands  on  our  mouths, 
a  long,  austere,  Pythagorean  lustrum.  Let  us  live  in 
corners,  and  do  chores,  and  suffer,  and  weep,  and  drudge, 
with  eyes  and  hearts  that  love  the  Lord.  Silence,  seclu 
sion,  austerity,  may  pierce  deep  into  the  grandeur  and 
secret  of  our  being,  and  so  diving,  bring  up  out  of  sec 
ular  darkness  the  sublimities  of  the  moral  constitution. 
How  mean  to  go  blazing,  a  gaudy  butterfly,  in  fashion 
able  or  political  saloons,  the  fool  of  society,  the  fool  of 
notoriety,  a  topic  for  newspapers,  a  piece  of  the  street, 
and  forfeiting  the  real  prerogative  of  the  russet  coat,  the 
privacy,  and  the  true  and  warm  heart  of  the  citizen ! 

Fatal  to  the  man  of  letters,  fatal  to  man,  is  the  lust  of 
display,  the  seeming  that  unmakes  our  being.  A  mis 
take  of  the  main  end  to  which  they  labor  is  incident  to 
literary  men,  who,  dealing  with  the  organ  of  language, 
—  the  subtlest,  strongest,  and  longest-lived  of  man's 
creations,  and  only  fitly  used  as  the  weapon  of  thought 
and  of  justice,  — learn  to  enjoy  the  pride  of  playing  with 
this  splendid  engine,  but  rob  it  of  its  almightiness  by 
failing  to  work  with  it.  Extricating  themselves  from 
the  tasks  of  the  world,  the  World  revenges  itself  by  ex 
posing,  at  every  turn,  the  folly  of  these  incomplete, 
pedantic,  useless,  ghostly  creatures.  The  scholar  will 
feel  that  the  richest  romance, — the  noblest  fiction  that 
was  ever  woven,  —  the  heart  and  soul  of  beauty,  —  lies 
enclosed  in  human  life.  Itself  of  surpassing  value,  it  is 
also  the  richest  material  for  his  creations.  How  shall  he 
know  its  secrets  of  tenderness,  of  terror,  of  will,  and  of 
fate  ?  How  can  he  catch  and  keep  the  strain  of  upper 
7  j 


146  LITERARY     ETHICS. 

music  that  peals  from  it  ?  Its  laws  are  concealed  under 
the  details  of  daily  action.  All  action  is  an  experiment 
upon  them.  He  must  bear  his  share  of  the  common 
load.  He  must  work  with  men  in  houses,  and  not  with 
their  names  in  books.  His  needs,  appetites,  talents, 
affections,  accomplishments,  are  keys  that  open  to  him 
the  beautiful  museum  of  human  life.  Why  should  he 
read  it  as  an  Arabian  tale,  and  not  know,  in  his  own 
beating  bosom,  its  sweet  and  smart  ?  Out  of  love  and 
hatred,  out  of  earnings  and  borrowings,  and  lendings 
and  losses  ;  out  of  sickness  and  pain ;  out  of  wooing 
and  worshipping;  out  of  travelling,  and  voting,  and 
watching,  and  caring;  out  of  disgrace  and  contempt, 
comes  our  tuition  in  the  serene  and  beautiful  laws.  Let 
him  not  slur  his  lesson;  let  him  learn  it  by  heart.  Let 
him  endeavor,  exactly,  bravely,  and  cheerfully,  to  solve 
the  problem  of  that  life  which  is  set  before  him.  And 
this,  by  punctual  action,  and  not  by  promises  or  dreams. 
Believing,  as  in  God,  in  the  presence  and  favor  of  the 
grandest  influences,  let  him  deserve  that  favor,  and  learn 
how  to  receive  and  use  it,  by  fidelity  also  to  the  lower 
observances*. 

This  lesson  is  taught  with  emphasis  in  the  life  of  the 
great  actor  of  this  age,  and  affords  the  explanation  of 
his  success.  Bonaparte  represents  truly  a  great  recent 
revolution,  which  we  in  this  country,  please  God,  shall 
carry  to  its  furthest  consummation.  Not  the  least  in 
structive  passage  in  modern  history  seems  to  me  a  trait 
of  Napoleon,  exhibited  to  the  English  when  he  became 
their  prisoner.  On  coming  on  board  the  Bellerophon, 
a  file  of  English  soldiers  drawn  up  on  deck  gave  him 


LITERARY     ETHICS.  147 

a  military  salute.  Napoleon  observed  that  their  manner 
of  handling  their  arms  differed  from  the  French  exercise, 
and,  putting  aside  the  guns  of  those  nearest  him,  walked 
up  to  a  soldier,  took  his  gun,  and  himself  went  through 
the  motion  in  the  French  mode.  The  English  officers 
and  men  looked  on  with  astonishment,  and  inquired  if 
such  familiarity  was  usual  with  the  Emperor. 

In  this  instance,  as  always,  that  man,  with  whatever 
defects  or  vices,  represented  performance  in  lieu  of  pre~ 
tension.  Feudalism  and  Orientalism  had  long  enough 
thought  it  majestic  to  do  nothing;  the  modern  majesty 
consists  in  work.  He  belonged  to  a  class,  fast  growing 
in  the  world,  who  think,  that  what  a  man  can  do  is  his 
greatest  ornament,  and  that  he  always  consults  his  dig 
nity  by  doing  it.  He  was  not  a  believer  in  luck  ;  he  had 
a  faith,  like  sight,  in  the  application  of  means  to  ends. 
Means  to  ends,  is  the  motto  of  all  his  behavior.  He  be 
lieved  that  the  great  captains  of  antiquity  performed  their 
exploits  only  by  correct  combinations,  and  by  justly  com 
paring  the  relation  between  means  and  consequences, 
efforts  and  obstacles.  The  vulgar  call  good  fortune  that 
which  really  is  produced  by  the  calculations  of  genius. 
But  Napoleon,  thus  faithful  to  facts,  had  also  this  crown 
ing  merit ;  that,  whilst  he  believed  in  number  and  weight, 
and  omitted  no  part  of  prudence,  he  believed  also  in  the 
freedom  and  quite  incalculable  force  of  the  soul.  A  man 
of  infinite  caution,  he  neglected  never  the  least  particular 
of  preparation,  of  patient  adaptation  ;  yet  nevertheless  he 
had  a  sublime  confidence,  as  in  his  all,  in  the  sallies  of  the 
courage,  and  the  faith  in  his  destiny,  which,  at  the  right 
moment,  repaired  all  losses,  axid  demolished  cavalry,  in- 


148  LITERARY    ETHICS. 

fantry,  king,  and  kaisar,  as  with  irresistible  thunderbolts. 
As  they  say  the  bough  of  the  tree  has  the  character  of 
the  leaf,  and  the  whole  tree  of  the  bough,  so,  it  is  cari 
ous  to  remark,  Bonaparte's  army  partook  of  this  double 
strength  of  the  captain ;  for,  whilst  strictly  supplied  in 
all  its  appointments,  and  everything  expected  from  the 
valor  and  discipline  of  every  platoon,  in  flank  and  centre, 
yet  always  remained  his  total  trust  in  the  prodigious  rev 
olutions  of  fortune,  which  his  reserved  Imperial  Guard 
were  capable  of  working,  if,  in  all  else,  the  day  was  lost. 
Here  he  was  sublime.  He  no  longer  calculated  the 
chance  of  the  cannon-ball.  He  was  faithful  to  tactics 
to  the  uttermost,  —  and  when  all  tactics  had  come  to  an 
end,  then,  he  dilated,  and  availed  himself  of  the  mighty 
saltations  of  the  most  formidable  soldiers  in  nature. 

Let  the  scholar  appreciate  this  combination  of  gifts, 
which,  applied  to  better  purpose,  make  true  wisdom.  He 
is  a  revealer  of  things.  Let  him  first  learn  the  things. 
Let  him  not,  too  eager  to  grasp  some  badge  of  reward, 
omit  the  work  to  be  done.  Let  him  know,  that,  though 
the  success  of  the  market  is  in  the  reward,  true  success  is 
the  doing ;  that,  in  the  private  obedience  to  his  mind ; 
in  the  sedulous  inquiry,  day  after  day,  year  after  year,  to 
know  how  the  thing  stands  ;  in  the  use  of  all  means,  and 
most  in  the  reverence  of  the  humble  commerce  and  hum 
ble  needs  of  life,  —  to  hearken  what  they  say,  and  so,  by 
mutual  reaction  of  thought  and  life,  to  make  thought 
solid,  and  life  wise  ;  and  in  a  contempt  for  the  gabble  of 
to-day's  opinions,  the  secret  of  the  world  is  to  be  learned, 
and  the  skill  truly  to  unfold  it  is  acquired.  Or,  rather, 
is  it  not,  that,  by  this  discipline,  the  usurpation  of  the 


LITERARY    ETHICS.  149 

senses  is  overcome,  and  the  lower  faculties  of  man  are 
subdued  to  docility ;  through  which,  as  an  unobstructed 
channel,  the  soul  now  easily  and  gladly  flows  ? 

The  good  scholar  will  not  refuse  to  bear  the  yoke  in 
his  youth  ;  to  know,  if  he  can,  the  uttermost  secret  of  toil 
and  endurance ;  to  make  his  own  hands  acquainted  with 
the  soil  by  which  he  is  fed,  and  the  sweat  that  goes  before 
comfort  and  luxury.  Let  him  pay  his  tithe,  and  serve 
the  world  as  a  true  and  noble  man ;  never  forgetting  to 
worship  the  immortal  divinities,  who  whisper  to  the  poet, 
and  make  him  the  utterer  of  melodies  that  pierce  the  eat 
of  eternal  time.  If  he  have  this  twofold  goodness,  —  the 
drill  and  the  inspiration,  —  then  he  has  health  ;  then  he 
is  a  whole,  and  not  a  fragment ;  and  the  perfection  of  his 
endowment  will  appear  in  his  compositions.  Indeed,  this 
twofold  merit  characterizes  ever  the  productions  of  great 
masters.  The  man  of  genius  should  occupy  the  whole 
space  between  God  or  pure  mind,  and  the  multitude  of 
uneducated  men.  He  must  draw  from  the  infinite  Rea 
son,  on  one  side ;  and  he  must  penetrate  into  the  heart 
and  sense  of  the  crowd,  on  the  other.  From  one,  he 
must  draw  his  strength ;  to  the  other,  he  must  owe  his 
aim.  The  one  yokes  him  to  the  real ;  the  other,  to  the 
apparent.  At  one  pole,  is  Reason ;  at  the  other,  Com 
mon  Sense.  If  he  be  defective  at  either  extreme  of  the 
scale,  his  philosophy  will  seem  low  and  utilitarian  ;  or  it 
will  appear  too  vague  and  indefinite  for  the  uses  of  life. 

The  student,  as  we  all  along  insist,  is  great  only  by 
being  passive  to  the  superincumbent  spirit.  Let  this 
faith,  then,  dictate  all  his  action.  Snares  and  bribes 
abound  to  mislead  him ;  let  him  be  true  nevertheless. 


150  LITERAEY     ETHICS. 

His  success  has  its  perils  too.  There  is  somewhat  incon 
venient  and  injurious  in  his  position.  They  whom  his 
thoughts  have  entertained  or  inflamed,  seek  him  before 
yet  they  have  learned  the  hard  conditions  of  thought. 
They  seek  him,  that  he  may  turn  his  lamp  on  the  dark 
riddles  whose  solution  they  think  is  inscribed  on  the  walls 
of  their  being.  They  find  that  he  is  a  poor,  ignorant 
man,  in  a  white-seamed,  rusty  coat,  like  themselves,  no 
wise  emitting  a  continuous  stream  of  light,  but  now  and 
then  a  jet  of  luminous  thought,  followed  by  total  dark 
ness  ;  moreover,  that  he  cannot  make  of  his  infrequent 
illumination  a  portable  taper  to  carry  whither  he  would, 
and  explain  now  this  dark  riddle,  now  that.  Sorrow  en 
sues.  The  scholar  regrets  to  damp  the  hope  of  ingen 
uous  boys ;  and  the  youth  has  lost  a  star  out  of  his  new 
flaming  firmament.  Hence  the  temptation  to  the  scholar 
to  mystify  ;  to  hear  the  question  ;  to  sit  upon  it  ;  to 
make  an  answer  of  words,  in  lack  of  the  oracle  of  things. 
Not  the  less  let  him  be  cold  and  true,  and  wait  in  pa 
tience,  knowing  that  truth  can  make  even  silence  elo 
quent  and  memorable.  Truth  shall  be  policy  enough  for 
him.  Let  him  open  his  breast  to  all  honest  inquiry,  and 
be  an  artist  superior  to  tricks  of  art.  Show  frankly  as 
a  saint  would  do,  your  experience,  methods,  tools,  and 
means.  Welcome  all  comers  to  the  freest  use  of  the 
same.  And  out  of  this  superior  frankness  and  charity, 
you  shall  learn  higher  secrets  of  your  nature,  which  gods 
will  bend  and  aid  you  to  communicate. 

If,  with  a  high  trust,  he  can  thus  submit  himself,  he 
will  find  that  ample  returns  are  poured  into  his  bosom, 
out  of  what  seemed  hours  of  obstruction  and  loss.  Let 


UTEKARY    ETHICS.  151 

him  not  grieve  too  muck  on  account  of  unfit  associates. 
When  he  sees  how  much  thought  he  owes  to  the  disa 
greeable  antagonism  of  various  persons  who  pass  and 
cross  him,  he  can  easily  think  that  in  a  society  of  perfect 
sympathy,  no  word,  no  act,  no  record,  would  be.  He 
will  learn,  that  it  is  not  much  matter  what  he  reads, 
what  he  does.  Be  a  scholar,  and  he  shall  have  the  schol 
ar's  part  of  everything.  As,  in  the  counting-room,  the 
merchant  cares  little  whether  the  cargo  be  hides  or  ba 
rilla  ;  the  transaction,  a  letter  of  credit  or  a  transfer  of 
stocks ;  be  it  what  it  may,  his  commission  comes  gently 
out  of  it ;  so  you  shall  get  your  lesson  out  of  the  hour, 
and  the  object,  whether  it  be  a  concentrated  or  a  waste 
ful  employment,  even  in  reading  a  dull  book,  or  working 
off  a  stint  of  mechanical  day  labor,  which  your  necessi 
ties  or  the  necessities  of  others  impose. 

Gentlemen,  I  have  ventured  to  offer  you  these  consid 
erations  upon  the  scholar's  place  and  hope,  because  I 
thought,  that,  standing,  as  many  of  you  now  do,  on  the 
threshold  of  this  College,  girt  and  ready  to  go  and  as 
sume  tasks,  public  and  private,  in  your  country,  you 
would  not  be  sorry  to  be  admonished  of  those  primary 
duties  of  the  intellect,  whereof  you  will  seldom  hear 
from  the  lips  of  your  new  companions.  You  will  hear 
every  day  the  maxims  of  a  low  prudence.  You  will 
hear,  that  the  first  duty  is  to  get  land  and  money,  place 
and  name.  "What  is  this  Truth  you  seek  ?  what  is 
this  Beauty  ?  "  men  will  ask,  with  derision.  If,  never 
theless,  God  have  called  any  of  you  to  explore  truth  and 
beauty,  be  bold,  be  firm,  be  true.  When  you  shall  say, 


152  LITEEARY    ETHICS. 

"  As  others  do,  so  will  I :  I  renounce,  I  am  sorry  for  it, 
my  early  visions ;  I  must  eat  the  good  of  the  land,  and 
let  learning  and  romantic  expectations  go,  until  a  more 
convenient  season  "  ;  —  then  dies  the  man  in  you ;  then 
once  more  perish  the  buds  of  art,  and  poetry,  and  sci 
ence,  as  they  have  died  already  in  a  thousand  thousand 
men.  The  hour  of  that  choice  is  the  crisis  of  your  his 
tory  ;  and  see  that  you  hold  yourself  fast  by  the  intel 
lect.  It  is  this  domineering  temper  of  the  sensual  world, 
that  creates  the  extreme  need  of  the  priests  of  science ; 
and  it  is  the  office  and  right  of  the  intellect  to  make 
and  not  take  its  estimate.  Bend  to  the  persuasion  which 
is  flowing  to  you  from  every  object  in  nature,  to  be  its 
tongue  to  the  heart  of  man,  and  to  show  the  besotted 
world  how  passing  fair  is  wisdom.  Forewarned  that  the 
vice  of  the  times  and  the  country  is  an  excessive  preten 
sion,  let  us  seek  the  shade,  and  find  wisdom  in  neglect. 
Be  content  with  a  little  light,  so  it  be  your  own.  Ex 
plore,  and  explore.  Be  neither  chided  nor  flattered  out 
of  your  position  of  perpetual  inquiry.  Neither  dogma 
tize,  nor  accept  another's  dogmatism.  Why  should  you 
renounce  your  right  to  traverse  the  star-lit  deserts  of 
truth,  for  the  premature  comforts  of  an  acre,  house,  and 
barn  ?  Truth  also  has  its  roof,  and  bed,  and  board. 
Make  yourself  necessary  to  the  world,  and  mankind  will 
give  you  bread,  and  if  not  store  of  it,  yet  such  as  shall 
not  take  away  your  property  in  all  men's  possessions,  in 
all  men's  affections,  in  art,  in  nature,  and  in  hope. 

You  will  not  fear,  that  I  am  enjoining  too  stern  an 
asceticism.  Ask  not,  Of  what  use  is  a  scholarship  that 
systematically  retreats  ?  or,  Who  is  the  better  for  the 


LITERARY    ETHICS.  153 

philosopher  who  conceals  his  accomplishments,  and  hides 
his  thoughts  from  the  waiting  world?  Hides  his 
thoughts!  Hide  the  sun  and  moon.  Thought  is  all 
light,  and  publishes  itself  to  the  universe.  It  will 
speak,  though  you  were  dumb,  by  its  own  miraculous 
organ.  It  will  flow  out  of  your  actions,  your  manners, 
and  your  face.  It  will  bring  you  friendships.  It  will 
impledge  you  to  truth  by  the  love  and  expectation  of 
generous  minds.  By  virtue  of  the  laws  of  that  Nature, 
which  is  one  and  perfect,  it  shall  yield  every  sincere  good 
that  is  in  the  soul,  to  the  scholar  beloved  of  earth  and 
heaven. 


THE   METHOD   OF   NATURE. 


AN  ORATION  DELIVERED  BEFORE  THE  SOCIETY  OF  THIS 
ADELPHI,  IN  WATERVILLE  COLLEGE,  MAINE,  AUGUST 
11,  1841. 


THE   METHOD   OF  NATUEE. 


GENTLEMEN  :  — 

Let  us  exchange  congratulations  on  the  enjoyments 
and  the  promises  of  this  literary  anniversary.  The  land 
we  live  in  has  no  interest  so  dear,  if  it  knew  its  want, 
as  the  fit  consecration  of  days  of  reason  and  thought. 
Where  there  is  no  vision,  the  people  perish.  The  schol 
ars  are  the  priests  of  that  thought  which  establishes 
the  foundations  of  the  earth.  No  matter  what  is  their 
special  work  or  profession,  they  stand  for  the  spiritual 
interest  of  the  world,  and  it  is  a  common  calamity  if  they 
neglect  their  post  in  a  country  where  the  material  in 
terest  is  so  predominant  as  it  is  in  America.  We  hear 
something  too  much  of  the  results  of  machinery,  com 
merce,  and  the  useful  arts.  We  are  a  puny  and  a  fickle 
folk.  Avarice,  hesitation,  and  following  are  our  diseases. 
The  rapid  wealth  which  hundreds  in  the  community  ac 
quire  in  trade,  or  by  the  incessant  expansions  of  our 
population  and  arts,  enchants  the  eyes  of  all  the  rest ; 
the  luck  of  one  is  the  hope  of  thousands,  and  the  bribe 
acts  like  the  neighborhood  of  a  gold-mine  to  impoverish 
the  farm,  the  school,  the  church,  the  house,  and  the  very 
body  and  feature  of  man. 

I  do  not  wish  to  look  with  sour  aspect  at  the  industri 
ous  manufacturing  village,  cr  the  mart  of  commerce.  I 


158  THE    METHOD     OF     NATURE. 

love  the  music  of  the  water-wheel ;  I  value  the  railway ; 
I  feel  the  pride  which  the  sight  of  a  ship  inspires ;  I  look 
on  trade  and  every  mechanical  craft  as  education  also. 
But  let  me  discriminate  what  is  precious  herein.  There 
is  in  each  of  these  works  an  act  of  invention,  an  intellec 
tual  step,  or  short  series  of  steps  taken ;  that  act  or  step 
is  the  spiritual  act ;  all  the  rest  is  mere  repetition  of  the 
same  a  thousand  times.  And  I  will  not  be  deceived  into 
admiring  the  routine  of  handicrafts  and  mechanics,  how 
splendid  soever  the  result,  any  more  than  I  admire  the 
routine  of  the  scholars  or  clerical  class.  That  splendid 
results  ensue  from  the  labors  of  stupid  men,  is  the  fruit 
of  higher  laws  than  their  will,  and  the  routine  is  not  to 
be  praised  for  it.  I  would  not  have  the  laborer  sacrificed 
to  the  result,  —  I  would  not  have  the  laborer  sacrificed 
to  my  convenience  and  pride,  nor  to  that  of  a  great  class 
of  such  as  me.  Let  there  be  worse  cotton  and  better 
men.  The  weaver  should  not  be  bereaved  of  his  superi 
ority  to  his  work,  and  his  knowledge  that  the  product 
or  the  skill  is  of  no  value,  except  so  far  as  it  embodies 
his  spiritual  prerogatives.  If  I  see  nothing  to  admire 
in  the  unit,  shall  I  admire  a  million  units  ?  Men  stand 
in  awe  of  the  city,  but  do  not  honor  any  individual  citi 
zen  ;  and  are  continually  yielding  to  this  dazzling  result 
of  numbers,  that  which  they  would  never  yield  to  the 
solitary  example  of  any  one. 

Whilst  the  multitude  of  men  degrade  each  other,  and 
give  currency  to  desponding  doctrines,  the  scholar  must 
be  a  bringer  of  hope,  and  must  reinforce  man  against  him 
self.  I  sometimes  believe  that  our  literary  anniversaries 
will  presently  assume  a  greater  importance,  as  the  eyes 


THE  METHOD  OP  NATURE.      159 

of  men  open  to  their  capabilities.  Here,  a  new  set  of 
distinctions,  a  new  order  of  ideas,  prevail.  Here,  we  set 
a  bound  to  the  respectability  of  wealth,  and  a  bound  to 
the  pretensions  of  the  law  and  the  church.  The  bigot 
must  cease  to  be  a  bigot  to-day.  Into  our  charmed  cir 
cle,  power  cannot  enter;  and  the  sturdiest  defender  of 
existing  institutions  feels  the  terrific  inflammability  of 
this  air  which  condenses  heat  in  every  corner  that  may 
restore  to  the  elements  the  fabrics  of  ages.  Nothing 
solid  is  secure;  everything  tilts  and  rocks.  Even  the 
scholar  is  not  safe ;  he  too  is  searched  and  revised.  Is 
his  learning  dead  ?  Is  he  living  in  his  memory  ?  The 
power  of  mind  is  not  mortification,  but  life.  But  come 
forth,  thou  curious  child  !  hither,  thou  loving,  all-hoping 
poet !  hither,  thou  tender,  doubting  heart,  which  hast  not 
yet  found  any  place  in  the  world's  market  fit  for  thee; 
any  wares  which  thou  couldst  buy  or  sell,  —  so  large  is 
thy  love  and  ambition,  —  thine  and  not  theirs  is  the 
hour.  Smooth  thy  brow,  and  hope  and  love  on,  for  the 
kind  Heaven  justifies  thee,  and  the  whole  world  feels  that 
thou  art  in  the  right. 

We  ought  to  celebrate  this  hour  by  expressions  of 
manly  joy.  Not  thanks,  not  prayer,  seem  quite  the  high 
est  or  truest  name  for  our  communication  with  the  infi 
nite, —  but  glad  and  conspiring  reception,  —  reception 
that  becomes  giving  in  its  turn,  as  the  receiver  is  only 
the  All-Giver  in  part  and  in  infancy.  I  cannot  — nor 
can  any  man  —  speak  precisely  of  things  so  sublime,  but 
it  seems  to  me,  the  wit  of  man,  his  strength,  his  grace, 
his  tendency,  his  art,  is  the  grace  and  the  presence  of 
God.  It  is  beyond  explanation.  When  all  is  said  and 


160      THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE. 

done,  the  rapt  saint  is  found  the  only  logician.  Not 
exhortation,  not  argument,  becomes  our  lips,  but  peeans 
of  joy  and  praise.  But  not  of  adulation  :  we  are  too 
nearly  related  in  the  deep  of  the  mind  to  that  we  honor. 
It  is  God  in  us  which  checks  the  language  of  petition 
by  a  grander  thought.  In  the  bottom  of  the  heart  it  is 
said :  "I  am,  and  by  me,  O  child !  this  fair  body  and 
world  of  thine  stands  and  grows.  I  am ;  all  things  are 
mine :  and  all  mine  are  thine." 

The  festival  of  the  intellect,  and  the  return  to  its 
source,  cast  a  strong  light  on  the  always  interesting 
topics  of  Man  and  Nature.  We  are  forcibly  reminded 
of  the  old  want.  There  is  no  man ;  there  hath  never 
been.  The  Intellect  still  asks  that  a  man  may  be  born. 
The  flame  of  life  flickers  feebly  in  human  breasts.  We 
demand  of  men  a  richness  and  universality  we  do  not 
find.  Great  men  do  not  content  us.  It  is  their  soli 
tude,  not  their  force,  that  makes  them  conspicuous. 
There  is  somewhat  indigent  and  tedious  about  them. 
They  are  poorly  tied  to  one  thought.  If  they  are 
prophets,  they  are  egotists ;  if  polite  and  various,  they 
are  shallow.  How  tardily  men  arrive  at  any  result !  how 
tardily  they  pass  from  it  to  another !  The  crystal  sphere 
of  thought  is  as  concentrical  as  the  geological  structure 
of  the  globe.  As  our  soils  and  rocks  lie  in  strata,  con 
centric  strata,  so  do  all  men's  thinkings  run  laterally, 
never  vertically.  Here  comes  by  a  great  inquisitor  with 
auger  and  plumb-line,  and  will  bore  an  Artesian  well 
through  our  conventions  and  theories,  and  pierce  to  the 
core  of  things.  But  as  soon  as  he  probes  the  crust, 
behold  gimlet,  plumb-line,  and  philosopher  take  a  lateral 


THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE.      161 

direction,  in  spite  of  all  resistance,  as  if  some  strong 
wind  took  everything  off  its  feet,  and  if  you  corne  mouth 
after  month  to  see  what  progress  our  reformer  has  made, 
—  not  an  inch  has  he  pierced,  —  you  still  find  him  with 
new  words  in  the  old  place,  flitting  about  in  new  parts 
of  the  same  old  vein  or  crust.  The  new  book  says,  "  I 
will  give  you  the  key  to  nature,"  and  we  expect  to  go 
like  a  thunderbolt  to  the  centre.  But  the  thunder  is  a 
surface  phenomenon,  makes  a  skin-deep  cut,  and  so  does 
the  sage.  The  wedge  turns  out  to  be  a  rocket.  Thus 
a  man  lasts  but  a  very  little  while,  for  his  monomania 
becomes  insupportably  tedious  in  a  few  months.  It  is 
so  with  every  book  and  person :  and  yet  —  and  yet  — 
we  do  not  take  up  a  new  book,  or  meet  a  new  man,  with 
out  a  pulse-beat  of  expectation.  And  this  invincible 
hope  of  a  more  adequate  interpreter  is  the  sure  predic 
tion  of  his  advent. 

In  the  absence  of  man,  we  turn  to  nature,  which 
stands  next.  In  the  divine  order,  intellect  is  primary ; 
nature,  secondary  ;  it  is  the  memory  of  the  mind.  That 
which  once  existed  in  intellect  as  pure  law  has  now 
taken  body  as  Nature.  It  existed  already  in  the  mind 
in  solution ;  now,  it  has  been  precipitated,  and  the  bright 
sediment  is  the  world.  We  can  never  be  quite  strangers 
or  interiors  in  nature.  It  is  flesh  of  our  flesh,  and  bone 
of  our  bone.  But  we  no  longer  hold  it  by  the  hand ; 
we  have  lost  our  miraculous  power ;  our  arm  is  no  more 
as  strong  as  the  frost ;  nor  our  will  equivalent  to  gravity 
and  the  elective  attractions.  Yet  we  can  use  nature  as 
a  convenient  standard,  and  the  meter  of  our  rise  and 
fall.  It  has  this  advantage  as  a  witness,  it  cannot  be 

K 


162      THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE. 

debauched.  When  man  curses,  nature  still  testifies  to 
truth  and  love.  We  may,  therefore,  safely  study  the 
mind  in  nature,  because  we  cannot  steadily  gaze  on  it  in 
mind ;  as  we  explore  the  face  of  the  sun  in  a  pool,  when 
our  eyes  cannot  brook  his  direct  splendors. 

It  seems  to  me,  therefore,  that  it  were  some  suitable 
paean,  if  we  should  piously  celebrate  this  hour  by  explor 
ing  the  method  of  nature.  Let  us  see  that,  as  nearly  as 
we  can,  and  try  how  far  it  is  transferable  to  the  literary 
life.  Every  earnest  glance  we  give  to  the  realities 
around  us,  with  intent  to  learn,  proceeds  from  a  holy 
impulse,  and  is  really  songs  of  praise.  What  difference 
can  it  make  whether  it  take  the  shape  of  exhortation, 
or  of  passionate  exclamation,  or  of  scientific  statement  ? 
These  are  forms  merely.  Through  them,  we  express,  at 
last,  the  fact  that  God  has  done  thus  or  thus. 

In  treating  a  subject  so  large,  in  which  we  must  neces 
sarily  appeal  to  the  intuition,  and  aim  much  more  to 
suggest,  than  to  describe,  I  know  it  is  not  easy  to  speak 
with  the  precision  attainable  on  topics  of  less  scope.  I 
do  not  wish,  in  attempting  to  paint  a  man,  to  describe  an 
air-fed,  unimpassioned,  impossible  ghost.  My  eyes  and 
ears  are  revolted  by  any  neglect  of  the  physical  facts,  the 
limitations  of  man.  And  yet  one  who  conceives  the  true 
order  of  nature,  and  beholds  the  visible  as  proceeding 
from  the  invisible,  cannot  state  his  thought,  without 
seeming  to  those  who  study  the  physical  laws,  to  do 
them  some  injustice.  There  is  an  intrinsic  defect  in  the 
organ.  Language  overstates.  Statements  of  the  infi 
nite  are  usually  felt  to  be  unjust  to  the  finite,  and  blas 
phemous.  Empedocles  undoubtedly  spoke  a  truth  of 


THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE.      163 

thought,  when  he  said,  "  I  am  God  "  ;  but  the  moment 
it  was  out  of  his  mouth,  it  became  a  lie  to  the  ear ;  and 
the  world  revenged  itself  for  the  seeming  arrogance,  by 
the  good  story  about  his  shoe.  How  can  I  hope  for 
better  hap  in  my  attempts  to  enunciate  spiritual  facts  ? 
Yet  let  us  hope,  that  as  far  as  we  receive  the  truth,  so  far 
shall  we  be  felt  by  every  true  person  to  say  what  is  just. 
The  -method  of  nature :  who  could  ever  analyze  it  ? 
That  rushing  stream  will  not  stop  to  be  observed.  We 
can  never  surprise  nature  in  a  corner ;  never  find  the  end 
of  a  thread  ;  never  tell  where  to  set  the  first  stone.  The 
bird  hastens  to  lay  her  egg  :  the  egg  hastens  to  be  a 
bird.  The  wholeness  we  admire  in  the  order  of  the 
world,  is  the  result  of  infinite  distribution.  Its  smooth 
ness  is  the  smoothness  of  the  pitch  of  the  cataract.  Its 
permanence  is  a  perpetual  inchoation.  Every  natural 
fact  is  an  emanation,  and  that  from  which  it  emanates  is 
an  emanation  also,  and  from  every  emanation  is  a  new 
emanation.  If  anything  could  stand  still,  it  would  be 
crushed  and  dissipated  by  the  torrent  it  resisted,  and  if  it 
were  a  mind,  would  be  crazed ;  as  insane  persons  are 
those  who  hold  fast  to  one  thought,  and  do  not  flow  with 
the  course  of  nature.  Not  the  cause,  but  an  ever  novel 
effect,  nature  descends  always  from  above.  It  is  un 
broken  obedience.  The  beauty  of  these  fair  objects  is 
imported  into  them  from  a  metaphysical  and  eternal 
spring.  In  all  animal  and  vegetable  forms,  the  physi 
ologist  concedes  that  no  chemistry,  no  mechanics,  can 
account  for  the  facts,  but  a  mysterious  principle  of  life 
must  be  assumed,  which  not  only  inhabits  the  organ,  but 
makes  the  organ. 


164      THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE. 

How  silent,  how  spacious,  what  room  for  all,  yet  with, 
out  place  to  insert  an  atom,  —  in  graceful  succession,  in 
equal  fulness,  in  balanced  beauty,  the  dance  of  the  hours 
goes  forward  still.  Like  an  odor  of  incense,  like  a  strain 
of  music,  like  a  sleep,  it  is  inexact  and  boundless.  It 
will  not  be  dissected,  nor  unravelled,  nor  shown.  Away, 
profane  philosopher  !  seekest  thou  in  nature  the  cause  ? 
This  refers  to  that,  and  that  to  the  next,  and  the  next 
to  the  third,  and  everything  refers.  Thou  must  ask  in 
another  mood,  thou  must  feel  it  and  love  it,  thou  must 
behold  it  in  a  spirit  as  grand  as  that  by  which  it  exists, 
ere  thou  canst  know  the  law.  Known  it  will  not  be,  but 
gladly  beloved  and  enjoyed. 

The  simultaneous  life  throughout  the  whole  body,  the 
equal  serving  of  innumerable  ends  without  the  least  em 
phasis  or  preference  to  any,  but  the  steady  degradation 
of  each  to  the  success  of  all,  allows  the  understanding  no 
place  to  work.  Nature  can  only  be  conceived  as  existing 
to  a  universal  and  not  to  a  particular  end,  to  a  universe 
of  ends,  and  not  to  one,  —  a  work  of  ecstasy,  to  be  repre 
sented  by  a  circular  movement,  as  intention  might  be 
signified  by  a  straight  line  of  definite  length.  Each  effect 
strengthens  every  other.  There  is  no  revolt  in  all  the 
kingdoms  from  the  commonweal :  no  detachment  of  an 
individual.  Hence  the  catholic  character  which  makes 
every  leaf  an  exponent  of  the  world.  When  we  behold 
the  landscape  in  a  poetic  spirit,  we  do  not  reckon  indi 
viduals.  Nature  knows  neither  palm  nor  oak,  but  only 
vegetable  life,  which  sprouts  into  forests,  and  festoons 
the  globe  with  a  garland  of  grasses  and  vines. 

That  no  single  end  may  be  selected,  and  nature  judged 


THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE.      165 

thereby,  appears  from  this,  that  if  man  himself  be  consid 
ered  as  the  end,  and  it  be  assumed  that  the  final  cause 
of  the  world  is  to  make  holy  or  wise  or  beautiful  men, 
we  see  that  it  has  not  succeeded.  Read  alternately  in 
natural  and  in  civil  history,  a  treatise  of  astronomy,  for 
example,  with  a  volume  of  French  Memoires  pour  servir. 
When  we  have  spent  our  wonder  in  computing  this 
wasteful  hospitality  with  which  boon  Nature  turns  off 
new  firmaments  without  end  into  her  wide  common,  as 
fast  as  the  madrepores  make  coral,  —  suns  and  planets 
hospitable  to  souls,  —  and  then  shorten  the  sight  to  look 
into  this  court  of  Louis  Quatorze,  and  see  the  game  that  is 
played  there,  —  duke  and  marshal,  abbe  and  madame,  — 
a  gambling-table  where  each  is  laying  traps  for  the  other, 
where  the  end  is  ever  by  some  lie  or  fetch  to  outwit  your 
rival  and  ruin  him  with  this  solemn  fop  in  wig  and  stars, 
—  the  king ;  one  can  hardly  help  asking  if  this  planet  is 
a  fair  specimen  of  the  so  generous  astronomy,  and  if  so, 
whether  the  experiment  have  not  failed,  and  whether  it 
be  quite  worth  while  to  make  more,  and  glut  the  inno 
cent  space  with  so  poor  an  article. 

I  think  we  feel  not  much  otherwise  if,  instead  of  be 
holding  foolish  nations,  we  take  the  great  and  wise  men, 
the  eminent  souls,  and  narrowly  inspect  their  biography. 
None  of  them  seen  by  himself, — and  his  performance 
compared  with  his  promise  or  idea,  will  justify  the  cost 
of  that  enormous  apparatus  of  means  by  which  this  spot 
ted  and  defective  person  was  at  last  procured. 

To  questions  of  this  sort,  Nature  replies,  "  I  grow." 
All  is  nascent,  infant.  When  we  are  dizzied  with  the 
arithmetic  of  the  savant  toiling  to  compute  the  length  of 


166  THE    METHOD    OF    NATUEE. 

her  line,  the  return  of  her  curve,  we  are  steadied  by  the 
perception  that  a  great  deal  is  doing  ;  that  all  seems  just 
begun  ;  remote  aims  are  in  active  accomplishment.  We 
can  point  nowhere  to  anything  final ;  but  tendency  ap 
pears  on  all  hands  :  planet,  system,  constellation,  total 
nature  is  growing  like  a  field  of  maize  in  July ;  is  becom 
ing  somewhat  else ;  is  in  rapid  metamorphosis.  The  em 
bryo  does  not  more  strive  to  be  man,  than  yonder  burr 
of  light  we  call  a  nebula  tends  to  be  a  ring,  a  comet,  a 
globe,  and  parent  of  new  stars.  Why  should  not  then 
these  messieurs  of  Versailles  strut  and  plot  for  tabourets 
and  ribbons,  for  a  season,  without  prejudice  to  their  fac 
ulty  to  run  on  better  errands  by  and  by  ? 

But  Nature  seems  further  to  reply  :  "  I  have  ventured 
so  great  a  stake  as  my  success,  in  no  single  creature.  I 
have  not  yet  arrived  at  any  end.  The  gardener  aims  to 
produce  a  fine  peach  or  pear,  but  my  aim  is  the  health  of 
the  whole  tree,  —  root,  stem,  leaf,  flower,  and  seed,  — 
and  by  no  means  the  pampering  of  a  monstrous  pericarp 
at  the  expense  of  all  the  other  functions." 

In  short,  the  spirit  and  peculiarity  of  that  impression 
Nature  makes  on  us  is  this,  that  it  does  not  exist  to  any 
one  or  to  any  number  of  particular  ends,  but  to  number 
less  and  endless  benefit  ;  that  there  is  in  it  no  private 
will,  no  rebel  leaf  or  limb,  but  the  whole  is  oppressed  by 
one  superincumbent  tendency,  obeys  that  redundancy  or 
excess  of  life  which  in  conscious  beings  we  call  ecstasy. 

With  this  conception  of  the  genius  or  method  of  na 
ture,  let  us  go  back  to  man.  It  is  true,  he  pretends  to 
give  account  of  himself  to  himself,  but  at  last,  what  has 
he  to  recite  but  the  fact  that  there  is  a  Life  not  to  be  de- 


THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE.      167 

scribed  or  known  otherwise  than  by  possession  ?  What 
account  can  he  give  of  his  essence  more  than  so  it  was 
to  be  ?  The  royal  reason,  the  Grace  of  God,  seems  the 
only  description  of  our  multiform  but  ever  identical  fact. 
There  is  virtue,  there  is  genius,  there  is  success,  or  there 
is  not.  There  is  the  incoming  or  the  receding  of  God  : 
that  is  all  that  we  can  affirm ;  and  we  can  show  neither 
how  nor  why.  Self-accusation,  remorse,  and  the  didactic 
morals  of  self-denial  and  strife  with  sin,  are  in  the  view 
we  are  constrained  by  our  constitution  to  take  of  the  fact 
seen  from  the  platform  of  action ;  but  seen  from  the  plat 
form  of  intellection,  there  is  nothing  for  us  but  praise 
and  wonder. 

The  termination  of  the  world  in  a  man  appears  to  be 
the  last  victory  of  intelligence.  The  universal  does  not 
attract  us  until  housed  in  an  individual.  Who  heeds  the 
waste  abyss  of  possibility  ?  The  ocean  is  everywhere  the 
same,  but  it  has  no  character  until  seen  with  the  shore 
or  the  ship.  Who  would  value  any  number  of  miles  of 
Atlantic  brine  bounded  by  lines  of  latitude  and  longitude  ? 
Confine  it  by  granite  rocks,  let  it  wash  a  shore  where 
wise  men  dwell,  and  it  is  filled  with  expression ;  and  the 
point  of  greatest  interest  is  where  the  land  and  water 
meet.  So  must  we  admire  in  man,  the  form  of  the  form 
less,  the  concentration  of  the  vast,  the  house  of  reason, 
the  cave  of  memory.  See  the  play  of  thoughts  !  what 
nimble  gigantic  creatures  are  these  !  what  saurians,  what 
palaiotheria  shall  be  named  with  these  agile  movers  ? 
The  great  Pan  of  old,  who  was  clothed  in  a  leopard-skin 
to  signify  the  beautiful  variety  of  things,  and  the  firma 
ment,  his  coat  of  stars,  was  but  the  representative  of 


168      THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE. 

thee,  0  rich  and  various  Man  !  thou  palace  of  sight  and 
sound,  carrying  in  thy  senses  the  morning  and  the  night 
and  the  unfathomable  galaxy  ;  in  thy  brain,  the  geometry 
of  the  City  of  God ;  in  thy  heart,  the  bower  of  love  and 
the  realms  of  right  and  wrong.  An  individual  man  is  a 
fruit  which  it  cost  all  the  foregoing  ages  to  form  and 
ripen.  The  history  of  the  genesis  or  the  old  mythology 
repeats  itself  in  the  experience  of  every  child.  He  too 
is  a  demon  or  god  thrown  into  a  particular  chaos,  where 
he  strives  ever  to  lead  things  from  disorder  into  order. 
Each  individual  soul  is  such,  in  virtue  of  its  being  a  power 
to  translate  the  world  into  some  particular  language  of 
its  own ;  if  not  into  a  picture,  a  statue,  or  a  dance,  — 
why,  then,  into  a  trade,  an  art,  a  science,  a  mode  of  liv 
ing,  a  conversation,  a  character,  an  influence.  You  ad 
mire  pictures,  but  it  is  as  impossible  for  you  to  paint 
a  right  picture,  as  for  grass  to  bear  apples.  But  when 
the  genius  comes,  it  makes  fingers  :  it  is  pliancy,  and  the 
power  of  transferring  the  affair  in  the  street  into  oils  and 
colors.  Raphael  must  be  born,  and  Salvator  must  be 
born. 

There  is  no  attractiveness  like  that  of  a  new  man. 
The  sleepy  nations  are  occupied  with  their  political  rou 
tine.  England,  France,  and  America  read  Parliamentary 
Debates,  which  no  high  genius  now  enlivens;  and  no 
body  will  read  them  who  trusts  his  own  eye  :  only  they 
who  are  deceived  by  the  popular  repetition  of  distin 
guished  names.  But  when  Napoleon  unrolls  his  map, 
the  eye  is  commanded  by  original  power.  When  Chat 
ham  leads  the  debate,  men  may  well  listen,  because  they 
must  listen.  A  man,  a  personal  ascendency,  is  the  only 


THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE.      169 

great  phenomenon.  When  Nature  has  work  to  be  done, 
she  creates  a  genius  to  do  it.  Follow  the  great  man, 
and  you  shall  see  what  the  world  has  at  heart  in  these 
ages.  There  is  no  omen  like  that. 

But  what  strikes  us  in  the  fine  genius  is  that  which 
belongs  of  right  to  every  one.  A  man  should  know  him 
self  for  a  necessary  actor.  A  link  was  wanting  between 
two  craving  parts  of  nature,  and  he  was  hurled  into  be 
ing  as  the  bridge  over  that  yawning  need,  the  mediator 
betwixt  two  else  unmarriageable  facts.  His  two  parents 
held  each  of  them  one,  of  the  wants,  and  the  union  of 
foreign  constitutions  in  him  enables  him  to  do  gladly  and 
gracefully  what  the  assembled  human  race  could  not  have 
sufficed  to  do.  He  knows  his  materials ;  he  applies  him 
self  to  his  work ;  he  cannot  read,  or  think,  or  look,  but 
he  unites  the  hitherto  separated  strands  into  a  perfect 
cord.  The  thoughts  he  delights  to  utter  are  the  reason 
of  his  incarnation?  Is  it  for  him  to  account  himself 
cheap  and  superfluous,  or  to  linger  by  the  wayside  for 
opportunities?  Did  he  not  come  into  being  because 
something  must  be  done  which  he  and  no  other  is  and 
does  ?  If  only  he  sees,  the  world  will  be  visible  enough. 
He  need  not  study  where  to  stand,  nor  to  put  things  in 
favorable  lights ;  in  him  is  the  light,  from  him  all  things 
are  illuminated  to  their  centre.  What  patron  shall  he 
ask  for  employment  and  reward  ?  Hereto  was  he  born, 
to  deliver  the  thought  of  his  heart  from  the  universe  to 
the  universe,  to  do  an  office  which  nature  could  not 
forego,  nor  he  be  discharged  from  rendering,  and  then 
immerge  again  into  the  holy  silence  and  eternity  out  of 
which  as  a  man  he  arose.  God  is  rich,  and  many  more 


170  THE    METHOD    OF    NATURE. 

men  than  one  he  harbors  in  his  bosom,  biding  their  time 
and  the  needs  and  the  beauty  of  all.  Is  not  this  the 
theory  of  every  man's  genius  or  faculty  ?  Why  then  goest 
thou  as  some  Boswell  or  listening  worshipper  to  this  saint 
or  to  that  ?  That  is  the  only  lese-majesty.  Here  art 
thou  with  whom  so  long  the  universe  travailed  in  labor  ; 
darest  thou  think  meanly  of  thyself  whom  the  stalwart 
Fate  brought  forth  to  unite  his  ragged  sides,  to  shoot  the 
gulf,  to  reconcile  the  irreconcilable  ? 

Whilst  a  necessity  so  great  caused  the  man  to  exist, 
his  health  and  erectness  consist  in  the  fidelity  with  which 
he  transmits  influences  from  the  vast  and  universal  to  the 
point  on  which  his  genius  can  act.  The  ends  are  mo 
mentary  :  they  are  vents  for  the  current  of  inward  life 
which  increases  as  it  is  spent.  A  man's  wisdom  is  to 
know  that  all  ends  are  momentary,  that  the  best  end 
must  be  superseded  by  a  better.  But  there  is  a  mis 
chievous  tendency  in  him  to  transfer  his  thought  from  the 
life  to  the  ends,  to  quit  his  agency  and  rest  in  his  acts : 
the  tools  run  away  with  the  workman,  the  human  with 
the  divine.  I  conceive  a  man  as  always  spoken  to  from 
behind,  and  unable  to  turn  his  head  and  see  the  speaker. 
In  all  the  millions  who  have  heard  the  voice,  none  ever 
saw  the  face.  As  children  in  their  play  run  behind  each 
other,  and  seize  one  by  the  ears  and  make  him  walk 
before  them,  so  is  the  spirit  our  unseen  pilot.  That 
well-known  voice  speaks  in  all  languages,  governs  all 
men,  and  none  ever  caught  a  glimpse  of  its  form.  If 
the  man  will  exactly  obey  it,  it  will  adopt  him,  so  that 
he  shall  not  any  longer  separate  it  from  himself  in  his 
thought,  he  shall  seem  to  be  it,  he  shall  be  it.  If  he 


THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE.      171 

listen  with  insatiable  ears,  richer  and  greater  wisdom  is 
taught  him,  the  sound  swells  to  a  ravishing  music,  he  is 
borne  away  as  with  a  flood,  he  becomes  careless  of  his 
food  and  of  his  house,  he  is  the  drinker  of  ideas,  and 
leads  a  heavenly  life.  But  if  his  eye  is  set  on  the  things 
to  be  done,  and  not  on  the  truth  that  is  still  taught,  and 
for  the  sake  of  which  the  things  are  to  be  done,  then  the 
voice  grows  faint,  and  at  last  is  but  a  humming  in  his 
ears.  His  health  and  greatness  consist  in  his  being  the 
channel  through  which  heaven  flows  to  earth,  in  short, 
in  the  fulness  in  which  an  ecstatical  state  takes  place  in 
him.  It  is  pitiful  to  be  an  artist,  when,  by  forbearing  to 
be  artists,  we  might  be  vessels  filled  with  the  divine  over 
flowings,  enriched  by  the  circulations  of  omniscience  and 
omnipresence.  Are  there  not  moments  in  the  history  of 
heaven  when  the  human  race  was  not  counted  by  individ 
uals,  but  was  only  the  Influenced,  was  God  in  distribu 
tion,  God  rushing  into  multiform  benefit  ?  It  is  sublime 
to  receive,  sublime  to  love,  but  this  lust  of  imparting  as 
from  us,  this  desire  to  be  loved,  the  wish  to  be  recog 
nized  as  individuals, — is  finite,  comes  of  a  lower  strain. 
Shall  I  say,  then,  that,  as  far  as  we  can  trace  the  natu 
ral  history  of  the  soul,  its  health  consists  in  the  fulness 
of  its  reception,  —  call  it  piety,  call  it  veneration,  —  in 
the  fact,  that  enthusiasm  is  organized  therein.  What  is 
best  in  any  work  of  art,  but  that  part  which  the  work 
itself  seems  to  require  and  do ;  that  which  the  man  can 
not  do  again,  that  which  flows  from  the  hour  and  the 
occasion,  like  the  eloquence  of  men  in  a  tumultuous 
debate  ?  It  was  always  the  theory  of  literature,  that  the 
word  of  a  poet  was  authoritative  and  final.  He  was 


172      THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE. 

supposed  to  be  the  mouth  of  a  divine  wisdom.  We 
rather  envied  his  circumstance  than  his  talent.  We  too 
could  have  gladly  prophesied  standing  in  that  place. 
We  so  quote  our  Scriptures ;  and  the  Greeks  So  quoted 
Homer,  Theognis,  Pindar,  and  the  rest.  If  the  theory 
has  receded  out  of  modern  criticism,  it  is  because  we 
have  not  had  poets.  Whenever  they  appear,  they  will 
redeem  their  own  credit. 

This  ecstatical  state  seems  to  direct  a  regard  to  the 
whole,  and  not  to  the  parts ;  to  the  cause,  and  not  to  the 
ends ;  to  the  tendency,  and  not  to  the  act.  It  respects 
genius,  and  not  talent ;  hope,  and  not  possession ;  the 
anticipation  of  all  things  by  the  intellect,  and  not  the 
history  itself;  art,  and  not  works  of  art;  poetry,  and 
not  experiment ;  virtue,  and  not  duties. 

There  is  no  office  or  function  of  man  but  is  rightly 
discharged  by  this  divine  method,  and  nothing  that  is  not 
noxious  to  him  if  detached  from  its  universal  relations. 
Is  it  his  work  in  the  world  to  study  nature,  or  the  laws 
of  the  world  ?  Let  him  beware  of  proposing  to  himself 
any  end.  Is  it  for  use  ?  nature  is  debased,  as  if  one 
looking  at  the  ocean  can  remember  only  the  price  of 
fish.  Or  is  it  for  pleasure  ?  he  is  mocked :  there  is 
a  certain  infatuating  air  in  woods  and  mountains  which 
draws  on  the  idler  to  want  and  misery.  There  is  some 
thing  social  and  intrusive  in  the  nature  of  all  things; 
they  seek  to  penetrate  and  overpower,  each  the  nature 
of  every  other  creature,  and  itself  alone  in  all  modes 
and  throughout  space  and  spirit  to  prevail  and  possess. 
Every  star  in  heaven  is  discontented  and  insatiable. 
Gravitation  and  chemistry  cannot  content  them.  Ever 


THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE.      173 

they  woo  and  court  the  eye  of  every  beholder.  Every 
man  who  comes  into  the  world  they  seek  to  fascinate 
and  possess,  to  pass  into  his  mind,  for  they  desire  to 
republish  themselves  in  a  more  delicate  world  than  that 
they  occupy.  It  is  not  enough  that  they  are  Jove, 
Mars,  Orion,  and  the  North  Star,  in  the  gravitating 
firmament:  they  would  have  such  poets  as  Newton, 
Herschel,  and  Laplace,  that  they  may  re-exist  and  re 
appear  in  the  finer  world  of  rational  souls,  and  fill  that 
realm  with  their  fame.  So  is  it  with  all  immaterial 
objects.  These  beautiful  basilisks  set  their  brute,  glo 
rious  eyes  on  the  eye  of  every  child,  and,  if  they  can, 
cause  their  nature  to  pass  through  his  wondering  eyes 
into  him,  and  so  all  things  are  mixed. 

Therefore  man  must  be  on  his  guard  against  this  cup 
of  enchantments,  and  must  look  at  nature  with  a  super 
natural  eye.  By  piety  alone,  by  conversing  with  the 
cause  of  nature,  is  he  safe  and  commands  it.  And  be 
cause  all  knowledge  is  assimilation  to  the  object  of 
knowledge,  as  the  power  or  genius  of  nature  is  ecstatic, 
so  must  its  science  or  the  description  of  it  be.  The  poet 
must  be  a  rhapsodist;  his  inspiration  a  sort  of  bright 
casualty  :  his  will  in  it  only  the  surrender  of  will  to  the 
Universal  Power,  which  will  not  be  seen  face  to  face, 
but  must  be  received  and  sympathetically  known.  It  is 
remarkable  that  we  have,  out  of  the  deeps  of  antiquity 
in  the  oracles  ascribed  to  the  half- fabulous  Zoroaster, 
a  statement  of  this  fact,  which  every  lover  and  seeker  of 
truth  will  recognize.  "  It  is  not  proper,"  said  Zoroaster, 
"  to  understand  the  Intelligible  with  vehemence,  but  if 
you  incline  your  mind,  you  will  apprehend  it :  not  too 


174      THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE. 

earnestly,  but  bringing  a  pure  and  inquiring  eye.  You 
will  not  understand  it  as  when  understanding  some  par 
ticular  thing,  but  with  the  flower  of  the  mind.  Things 
divine  are  not  attainable  by  mortals  who  understand 
sensual  things,  but  only  the  light-armed  arrive  at  the 
summit." 

And  because  ecstasy  is  the  law  and  cause  of  nature, 
therefore  you  cannot  interpret  it  in  too  high  and  deep 
a  sense.  Nature  represents  the  best  meaning  of  the 
wisest  man.  Does  the  sunset  landscape  seem  to  you 
the  palace  of  Friendship,  —  those  purple  skies  and  lovely 
waters  the  amphitheatre  dressed  and  garnished  only  for 
the  exchange  of  thought  and  love  of  the  purest  souls  ? 
It  is  that.  All  other  meanings  which  base  men  have  put 
on  it  are  conjectural  and  false.  You  "  cannot  bathe 
twice  in  the  same  river,"  said  Heraclitus,  for  it  is 
renewed  every  moment;  and  I  add,  a  man  never  sees 
the  same  object  twice  :  with  his  own  enlargement  the 
object  acquires  new  aspects. 

Does  not  the  same  law  hold  for  virtue  ?  It  is  vitiated 
by  too  much  will.  He  who  aims  at  progress,  should  aim 
at  an  infinite,  not  at  a  special  benefit.  The  reforms 
whose  fame  now  fills  the  land  with  Temperance,  Anti- 
slavery,  Non-Resistance,  No  Government,  Equal  Labor, 
fair  and  generous  as  each  appears,  are  poor  bitter  things 
when  prosecuted  for  themselves  as  an  end.  To  every 
reform  in  proportion  to  its  energy,  early  disgusts  are 
incidents,  so  that  the  disciple  is  surprised  at  the  very 
hour  of  his  first  triumphs,  with  chagrins,  and  sickness, 
and  a  general  distrust :  so  that  he  shuns  his  associates, 
hates  the  enterprise  which  lately  seemed  so  fair,  and 


THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE.      175 

meditates  to  cast  himself  into  the  arms  of  that  society 
and  manner  of  life  which  he  had  newly  abandoned  with 
so  much  pride  and  hope.  Is  it  that  he  attached  the 
value  of  virtue  to  some  particular  practices,  as,  the 
denial  of  certain  appetites  in  certain  specified  indul 
gences,  and,  afterward,  found  himself  still  as  wicked 
and  as  far  from  happiness  in  that  abstinence  as  he  had 
been  m  the  abuse  ?  But  the  soul  can  be  appeased  not 
by  a  deed  but  by  a  tendency.  It  is  in  a  hope  that  she 
feels  her  wings.  You  shall  love  rectitude,  and  not  the 
disuse  of  money  or  the  avoidance  of  trade ;  an  unim 
peded  mind,  and  not  a  monkish  diet ;  sympathy  and  use 
fulness,  and  not  hoeing  or  coopering.  Tell  me  not  how 
great  your  project  is,  the  civil  liberation  of  the  world, 
its  conversion  into  a  Christian  church,  the  establishment 
of  public  education,  cleaner  diet,  a  new  division  of  labor 
and  of  land,  laws  of  love  for  laws  of  property  ;  —  I  say 
to  you  plainly  there  is  no  end  to  which  your  practical 
faculty  can  aim,  so  sacred  or  so  large,  that,  if  pursued 
ror  itself,  will  not  at  last  become  carrion  and  an  offence 
to  the  nostril.  The  imaginative  faculty  of  the  soul  must 
be  fed  with  objects  immense  and  eternal.  Your  end 
should  be  one  inapprehensible  to  the  senses  :  then  will  it 
be  a  god  always  approached,  —  never  touched  ;  always 
giving  health.  A  man  adorns  himself  with  prayer  and 
love,  as  an  aim  adorns  an  action.  What  is  strong  but 
goodness,  and  what  is  energetic  but  the  presence  of 
a  brave  man  ?  The  doctrine  in  vegetable  physiology  of 
the  presence,  or  the  general  influence  of  any  substance 
over  and  above  its  chemical  influence,  as  of  an  alkali  or 
a  living  plant,  is  more  predicable  of  man.  You  need  not 


176      THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE. 

speak  to  me,  I  need  not  go  where  you  are,  that  you 
should  exert  magnetism  on  me.  Be  you  only  whole  and 
sufficient,  and  I  shall  feel  you  in  every  part  of  my  life 
and  fortune,  and  I  can  as  easily  dodge  the  gravitation  of 
the  globe  as  escape  your  influence. 

But  there  are  other  examples  of  this  total  and  su 
preme  influence,  besides  Nature  and  the  conscience. 
"From  the  poisonous  tree,  the  world,"  say  the  Brah 
mins,  "two  species  of  fruit  are  produced,  sweet  as  the 
waters  of  life,  Love  or  the  society  of  beautiful  souls,  and 
Poetry,  whose  taste  is  like  the  immortal  juice  of  Vishnu." 
What  is  Love,  and  why  is  it  the  chief  good,  but  because 
it  is  an  overpowering  enthusiasm  ?  Never  self-possessed 
or  prudent,  it  is  all  abandonment.  Is  it  not  a  certain  ad 
mirable  wisdom,  preferable  to  all  other  advantages,  and 
whereof  all  others  are  only  secondaries  and  indemnities, 
because  this  is  that  in  which  the  individual  is  no  longer 
his  own  foolish  master,  but  inhales  an  odorous  and  celes 
tial  air,  is  wrapped  round  with  awe  of  the  object,  blend 
ing  for  the  time  that  object  with  the  real  and  only  good, 
and  consults  every  omen  in  nature  with  tremulous  inter 
est  ?  When  we  speak  truly,  —  is  not  he  only  unhappy 
who  is  not  in  love  ?  his  fancied  freedom  and  self-rule, 
—  is  it  not  so  much  death  ?  He  who  is  in  love  is  vise 
and  is  becoming  wiser,  sees  newly  every  time  he  looks  at 
the  object  beloved,  drawing  from  it  with  his  eyes  and  his 
mind  those  virtues  which  it  possesses.  Therefore  if  the 
object  be  not  itself  a  living  and  expanding  soul,  he  pres 
ently  exhausts  it.  But  the  love  remains  in  his  mind,  and 
the  wisdom  it  brought  him  ;  and  it  craves  a  new  and 
higher  object.  And  the  reason  why  all  men  honor  love, 


THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE.      177 

is  because  it  looks  up  and  not  down ;  aspires  and  not 
despairs. 

Aud  what  is  Genius  but  finer  love,  a  love  impersonal, 
a  love  of  the  flower  and  perfection  of  things,  and  a  de 
sire  to  draw  a  new  picture  or  copy  of  the  same  ?  It 
looks  to  the  cause  and  life ;  it  proceeds  from  within 
outward,  whilst  Talent  goes  from  without  inward.  Tal 
ent  finds  its  models,  methods,  and  ends  in  society,  exists 
for  exhibition,  and  goes  to  the  soul  only  for  power  to 
work.  Genius  is  its  own  end,  and  draws  its  means  and 
the  style  of  its  architecture  from  within,  going  abroad 
only  for  audience,  and  spectator,  as  we  adapt  our  voice 
and  phrase  to  the  distance  and  character  of  the  ear 
we  speak  to.  All  your  learning  of  all  literatures  would 
never  enable  you  to  anticipate  one  of  its  thoughts  or 
expressions,  and  yet  each  is  natural  and  familiar  as 
household  words.  Here  about  us  coils  forever  the  an 
cient  enigma,  so  old  and  so  unutterable.  Behold !  there 
is  the  sun,  and  the  rain,  and  the  rocks :  the  old  sun,  the 
old  stones.  How  easy  were  it  to  describe  all  this  fitly  ; 
yet  no  word  can  pass.  Nature  is  a  mute,  and  man,  her 
articulate  speaking  brother,  lo !  he  also  is  a  mute.  Yet 
when  Genius  arrives,  its  speech  is  like  a  river;  it  has 
no  straining  to  describe,  more  than  there  is  straining  in 
nature  to  exist.  When  thought  is  best,  there  is  most  of 
it.  Genius  sheds  wisdom  like  perfume,  and  advertises 
us  that  it  flows  out  of  a  deeper  source  than  the  foregoing 
silence,  that  it  knows  so  deeply  and  speaks  so  musically, 
because  it  is  itself  a  mutation  of  the  thing  it  describes. 
It  is  sun  and  moon  and  wave  and  fire  in  music,  as  as 
tronomy  is  thought  and  harmony  in  masses  of  matter. 
8*  L 


178      THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE. 

What  is  all  history  but  the  work  of  ideas,  a  record  of 
the  incomputable  energy  which  his  infinite  aspirations 
infuse  into  man  ?  Has  anything  grand  and  lasting  been 
done?  Who  did  it?  Plainly  not  any  man,  but  all 
men :  it  was  the  prevalence  and  inundation  of  an  idea. 

What  brought  the  pilgrims  here  ?  One  man  says, 
civil  liberty ;  another,  the  desire  of  founding  a  church ; 
and  a  third  discovers  that  the  motive  force  was  planta 
tion  and  trade.  But  if  the  Puritans  could  rise  from  the 
dust,  they  could  not  answer.  It  is  to  be  seen  in  what 
they  were,  and  not  in  what  they  designed ;  it  was  the 
growth  and  expansion  of  the  human  race,  and  resembled 
herein  the  sequent  Revolution,  which  was  not  begun  in 
Concord,  or  Lexington,  or  Virginia,  but  was  the  over 
flowing  of  the  sense  of  natural  right  in  every  clear  and 
active  spirit  of  the  period.  Is  a  man  boastful  and  know 
ing,  and  his  own  master  ?  —  we  turn  from  him  without 
hope  :  but  let  him  be  filled  with  awe  and  dread  before 
the  Yast  and  the  Divine,  which  uses  him  glad  to  be 
used,  and  our  eye  is  riveted  to  the  chain  of  events. 
What  a  debt  is  ours  to  that  old  religion  which,  in  the 
childhood  of  most  of  us,  still  dwelt  like  a  Sabbath  morn 
ing  in  the  country  of  New  England,  teaching  privation, 
self-denial,  and  sorrow  !  A  man  was  born  not  for  pros 
perity,  but  to  suffer  for  the  benefit  of  others,  like  the 
noble  rock-maple  which  all  around  our  villages  bleeds 
for  the  service  of  man.  Not  praise,  not  men's  accept 
ance  of  our  doing,  but  the  spirit's  holy  errand  through 
us  absorbed  the  thought.  How  dignified  was  this  ! 
How  all  that  is  called  talents  and  success,  in  our  noisy 
capitals,  becomes  buzz  and  din  before  this  man-worthi- 


THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE.      179 

ness!  How  our  friendships  and  the  complaisances  we 
use  shame  us  now  !  Shall  we  not  quit  our  companions, 
as  if  they  were  thieves  and  pot  companions,  and  betake 
ourselves  to  some  desert  cliff  of  Mount  Katahdin,  some 
unvisited  recess  in  Moosehead  Lake,  to  bewail  our  in- 
nocency  and  to  recover  it,  and  with  it  the  power  to 
communicate  again  with  these  sharers  of  a  more  sacred 
idea  ? 

And  what  is  to  replace  for  us  the  piety  of  that  race  ? 
We  cannot  have  theirs :  it  glides  away  from  us  day  by 
day,  but  we  also  can  bask  in  the  great  morning  which 
rises  forever  out  of  the  eastern  sea,  and  be  ourselves  the 
children  of  the  light.  I  stand  here  to  say,  Let  us  wor 
ship  the  mighty  and  transcendent  Soul.  It  is  the  office, 
I  doubt  not,  of  this  age  to  annul  that  adulterous  divorce 
which  the  superstition  of  many  ages  has  effected  between 
the  intellect  and  holiness.  The  lovers  of  goodness  have 
been  one  class,  the  students  of  wisdom  another,  as  if 
either  could  exist  in  any  purity  without  the  other.  Truth 
is  always  holy,  holiness  always  wise.  I  will  that  we  keep 
terms  with  sin,  and  a  sinful  literature  and  society,  no 
longer,  but  live  a  life  of  discovery  and  performance. 
Accept  the  intellect,  and  it  will  accept  us.  Be  the  lowly 
ministers  of  that  pure  omniscience,  and  deny  it  not  be 
fore  men.  It  will  burn  up  all  profane  literature,  all  base 
current  opinions,  all  the  false  powers  of  the  world,  as  in 
a  moment  of  time.  I  draw  from  nature  the  lesson  of 
any  intimate  divinity.  Our  health  and  reason  as  men 
needs  our  respect  to  this  fact,  against  the  heedlessness 
and  against  the  contradiction  of  society.  The  sanity  of 
man  needs  the  poise  of  this  immanent  force.  His  no- 


180     THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE. 

bility  needs  the  assurance  of  this  inexhaustible  reserved 
power.  How  great  soever  have  been  its  bounties,  they 
are  a  drop  to  the  sea  whence  they  flow.  If  you  say, 
'  The  acceptance  of  the  vision  is  also  the  act  of  God ' : 
I  shall  not  seek  to  penetrate  the  mystery,  I  admit  the 
force  of  what  you  say.  If  you  ask,  '  How  can  any  rules 
be  given  for  the  attainment  of  gifts  so  sublime  ?  '  I  shall 
only  remark  that  the  solicitations  of  this  spirit,  as  long 
as  there  is  life,  are  never  forborne.  Tenderly,  tenderly, 
they  woo  and  court  us  from  every  object  in  nature,  from 
every  fact  in  life,  from  every  thought  in  the  mind.  The 
one  condition  coupled  with  the  gift  of  truth  is  its  use. 
That  man  shall  be  learned  who  reduceth  his  learning 
to  practice.  Emanuel  Swedenborg  affirmed  that  it  was 
opened  to  him,  "  that  the  spirits  who  knew  truth  in  this 
life,  but  did  it  not,  at  death  shall  lose  their  knowledge." 
"If  knowledge,"  said  Ali  the  Caliph,  "calleth  unto  prac 
tice,  well ;  if  not,  it  goeth  away."  The  only  way  into 
nature  is  to  enact  our  best  insight.  Instantly  we  are 
higher  poets,  and  can  speak  a  deeper  law.  Do  what  you 
know,  and  perception  is  converted  into  character,  as 
islands  and  continents  were  built  by  invisible  infusories, 
or,  as  these  forest  leaves  absorb  light,  electricity,  and 
volatile  gases,  and  the  gnarled  oak  to  live  a  thousand 
years  is  the  arrest  and  fixation  of  the  most  volatile  and 
ethereal  currents.  The  doctrine  of  this  Supreme  Pres< 
ence  is  a  cry  of  joy  and  exultation.  Who  shall  dare  think 
he  has  come  late  into  nature,  or  has  missed  anything 
excellent  in  the  past,  who  seeth  the  admirable  stars  of 
possibility,  and  the  yet  untouched  continent  of  hope  glit 
tering  with  all  its  mountains  in  the  vast  West  ?  I  praise 


THE     METHOD    OF     NATURE.  181 

with  wonder  this  great  reality,  which  seems  to  drown  all 
things  in  the  deluge  of  its  light.  What  man,  seeing  this, 
can  lose  it  from  his  thoughts,  or  entertain  a  meaner  sub 
ject  ?  The  entrance  of  this  into  his  mind  seems  to  be 
the  birth  of  man.  We  cannot  describe  the  natural  his 
tory  of  the  soul,  but  we  know  that  it  is  divine.  I  cannot 
tell  if  these  wonderful  qualities  which  house  to-day  in 
this  mortal  frame,  shall  ever  reassemble  in  equal  activity 
in  a  similar  frame,  or  whether  they  have  before  had  a 
natural  history  like  that  of  this  body  you  see  before  you ; 
but  this  one  thing  I  know,  that  these  qualities  did  not 
now  begin  to  exist,  cannot  be  sick  with  my  sickness,  nor 
buried  in  any  grave ;  but  that  they  circulate  through 
the  Universe :  before  the  world  was,  they  were.  Noth 
ing  can  bar  them  out,  or  shut  them  in,  they  penetrate 
the  ocean  and  land,  space  and  time,  form  and  essence, 
and  hold  the  key  to  universal  nature.  I  draw  from  this 
faith  courage  and  hope.  All  things  are  known  to  the 
soul.  It  is  not  to  be  surprised  by  any  communication. 
Nothing  can  be  greater  than  it.  Let  those  fear  and 
those  fawn  who  will.  The  soul  is  in  her  native  realm, 
and  it  is  wider  than  space,  older  than  time,  wide  as  hope, 
rich  as  love.  Pusillanimity  and  fear  she  refuses  with  a 
beautiful  scorn  :  they  are  not  for  her  who  putteth  on  her 
coronation  robes,  and  goes  out  through  universal  love  to 
universal  power. 


MAN    THE    REFORMER. 


A  LECTUKE  READ  BEFORE  THE  MECHANICS'  APPRENTICES' 
LIBRARY  ASSOCIATION,  BOSTON,  JANUARY  25,  1841. 


MAN   THE   EEFOEMEE. 


MR.  PRESIDENT  AND  GENTLEMEN:  — 

I  wish  to  offer  to  your  consideration  some  thoughts  on 
the  particular  and  general  relations  of  man  as  a  reformer. 
I  shall  assume  that  the  aim  of  each  young  man  in  this 
association  is  the  very  highest  that  belongs  to  a  rational 
mind.  Let  it  be  granted  that  our  life,  as  we  lead  it,  is 
common  and  mean ;  that  some  of  those  offices  and  func 
tions  for  which  we  were  mainly  created  are  grown  so 
rare  in  society,  that  the  memory  of  them  is  only  kept 
alive  in  old  books  and  in  dim  traditions ;  that  prophets 
and  poets,  that  beautiful  and  perfect  men,  we  are  not 
now,  no,  nor  have  even  seen  such ;  that  some  sources  of 
human  instruction  are  almost  unnamed  and  unknown 
among  us;  that  the  community  in  which  we  live  will 
hardly  bear  to  be  told  that  every  man  should  be  open  to 
ecstasy  or  a  divine  illumination,  and  his  daily  walk  ele 
vated  by  intercourse  with  the  spiritual  world.  Grant  all 
this,  as  we  must,  yet  I  suppose  none  of  my  auditors  will 
deny  that  we  ought  to  seek  to  establish  ourselves  in  such 
disciplines  and  courses  as  will  deserve  that  guidance  and 
clearer  communication  with  the  spiritual  nature.  And 
further,  I  will  not  dissemble  my  hope,  that  each  person 
whom  I  address  has  felt  his  own  call  to  cast  aside  all  evil 
customs,  timidities,  and  limitations,  and  to  be  in  his  place 


186  MAN    THE    REFORMER. 

a  free  and  helpful  man,  a  reformer,  a  benefactor,  not  con 
tent  to  slip  along  through  the  world  like  a  footman  or  a 
spy,  escaping  by  his  nimbleness  and  apologies  as  many 
knocks  as  he  can,  but  a  brave  and  upright  man,  who 
must  find  or  cut  a  straight  road  to  everything  excellent 
on  the  earth,  and  not  only  go  honorably  himself,  but 
make  it  easier  for  all  who  follow  him,  to  go  in  honor  and 
with  benefit. 

In  the  history  of  the  world  the  doctrine  of  Reform  had 
never  such  scope  as  at  the  present  hour.  Lutherans, 
Herrnhutters,  Jesuits,  Monks,  Quakers,  Knox,  Wesley, 
Swedenborg,  Bentham,  in  their  accusations  of  society,  all 
respected  something,  —  church  or  state,  literature  or 
history,  domestic  usages,  the  market  town,  the  dinner- 
table,  coined  money.  But  now  all  these  and  all  things 
else  hear  the  trumpet,  and  must  rush  to  judgment,  — 
Christianity,  the  laws,  commerce,  schools,  the  farm,  the 
laboratory ;  and  not  a  kingdom,  town,  statute,  rite,  call 
ing,  man,  or  woman,  but  is  threatened  by  the  new 
spirit. 

What  if  some  of  the  objections  whereby  our  institu 
tions  are  assailed  are  extreme  and  speculative,  and  the 
reformers  tend  to  idealism ;  that  only  shows  the  extrava 
gance  of  the  abuses  which  have  driven  the  mind  into  the 
opposite  extreme.  It  is  when  your  facts  and  persons 
grow  unreal  and  fantastic  by  too  much  falsehood,  that 
the  scholar  flies  for  refuge  to  the  world  of  ideas,  and 
aims  to  recruit  and  replenish  nature  from  that  source. 
Let  ideas  establish  their  legitimate  sway  again  in  society, 
let  life  be  fair  and  poetic,  and  the  scholars  will  gladly  be 
lovers,  citizens,  and  philanthropists. 


MAN    THE     REFORMER.  187 

It  will  afford  no  security  from  the  new  ideas,  that  the 
old  nations,  the  laws  of  centuries,  the  property  and  insti 
tutions  of  a  hundred  cities,  are  built  on  other  founda 
tions.  The  demon  of  reform  has  a  secret  door  into  the 
heart  of  every  law-maker,  of  every  inhabitant  of  every 
city.  The  fact  that  a  new  thought  and  hope  have 
dawned  in  your  breast,  should  apprise  you  that  in  the 
same  hour  a  new  light  broke  in  upon  a  thousand  private 
hearts.  That  secret  which  you  would  fain  keep,  —  as 
soon  as  you  go  abroad,  lo  !  there  is  one  standing  on  the 
doorstep,  to  tell  you  the  same.  There  is  not  the  most 
bronzed  and  sharpened  money-catcher,  who  does  not,  to 
your  consternation,  almost  quail  and  shake  the  moment 
he  hears  a  question  prompted  by  the  new  ideas.  We 
thought  he  had  some  semblance  of  ground  to  stand  upon, 
that  such  as  he  at  least  would  die  hard ;  but  he  trembles 
and  flees.  Then  the  scholar  says,  '  Cities  and  coaches 
shall  never  impose  on  me  again ;  for,  behold  every  soli 
tary  dream  of  mine  is  rushing  to  fulfilment.  That  fancy 
I  had,  and  hesitated  to  utter  because  you  would  laugh, 
• —  lo,  the  broker,  the  attorney,  the  market-man  are  say 
ing  the  same  thing.  Had  I  waited  a  day  longer  to  speak, 
I  had  been  too  late.  Behold,  State  Street  thinks,  and 
Wall  Street  doubts,  and  begins  to  prophesy  ! ' 

It  cannot  be  wondered  at,  that  this  general  inquest 
into  abuses  should  arise  in  the  bosom  of  society,  when 
one  considers  the  practical  impediments  that  stand  in  the 
way  of  virtuous  young  men.  The  young  man,  on  enter 
ing  life,  finds  the  way  to  lucrative  employments  blocked 
with  abuses.  The  ways  of  trade  are  grown  selfish  to 
the  borders  of  theft,  and  supple  to  the  borders  (if  not 


188  MAN    THE     REFORMER. 

beyond  the  borders)  of  fraud.  The  employments  of  com 
merce  are  not  intrinsically  unfit  for  a  man,  or  less  genial 
to  his  faculties,  but  these  are  now  in  their  general  course 
so  vitiated  by  derelictions  and  abuses  at  which  all  con 
nive,  that  it  requires  more  vigor  and  resources  than  can 
be  expected  of  every  young  man,  to  right  himself  in 
them  ;  he  is  lost  in  them ;  he  cannot  move  hand  or  foot 
in  them.  Has  he  genius  and  virtue  ?  the  less  does  he 
find  them  fit  for  him  to  grow  in,  and  if  he  would  thrive 
in  them,  he  must  sacrifice  all  the  brilliant  dreams  of  boy 
hood  and  youth  as  dreams  ;  he  must  forget  the  prayers 
of  his  childhood ;  and  must  take  on  him  the  harness  of 
routine  and  obsequiousness.  If  not  so  minded,  nothing 
is  left  him  but  to  begin  the  world  anew,  as  he  does  who 
puts  the  spade  into  the  ground  for  food.  We  are  all  im 
plicated,  of  course,  in  this  charge ;  it  is  only  necessary 
to  ask  a  few  questions  as  to  the  progress  of  the  articles 
of  commerce  from  the  fields  where  they  grew,  to  our 
houses,  to  become  aware  that  we  eat  and  drink  and  wear 
perjury  and  fraud  in  a  hundred  commodities.  How 
many  articles  of  daily  consumption  are  furnished  us  from 
the  West  Indies ;  yet  it  is  said,  that,  in  the  Spanish 
islands,  the  venality  of  the  officers  of  the  government  has 
passed  into  usage,  and  that  no  article  passes  into  our 
ships  which  has  not  been  fraudulently  cheapened.  In  the 
Spanish  islands,  every  agent  or  factor  of  the  Americans, 
unless  he  be  a  consul,  has  taken  oath  that  he  is  a  Cath 
olic,  or  has  caused  a  priest  to  make  that  declaration  for 
him.  The  abolitionist  has  shown  us  our  dreadful  debt  to 
the  Southern  negro.  In  the  island  of  Cuba,  in  addition 
to  the  ordinary  abominations  of  slavery,  it  appears,  only 


MAN    THE    REFORMER.  189 

men  are  bought  for  the  plantations,  and  one  dies  in  ten 
every  year,  of  these  miserable  bachelors,  to  yield  us 
sugar.  I  leave  for  those  who  have  the  knowledge  the 
part  of  sifting  the  oaths  of  our  custom-houses  ;  I  will 
not  inquire  into  the  oppression  of  the  sailors ;  I  will  not 
pry  into  the  usages  of  our  retail  trade.  I  content  my 
self  with  the  fact,  that  the  general  system  of  our  trade 
(apart  from  the  blacker  traits,  which,  I  hope,  are  excep 
tions  denounced  and  unshared  by  all  reputable  men)  is  a 
system  of  selfishness ;  is  not  dictated  by  the  high  senti 
ments  of  human  nature;  is  not  measured  by  the  exact 
law  of  reciprocity  ;  much  less  by  the  sentiments  of  love 
and  heroism,  but  is  a  system  of  distrust,  of  concealment, 
of  superior  keenness,  not  of  giving  but  of  taking  advan 
tage.  It  is  not  that  which  a  man  delights  to  unlock  to 
a  noble  friend  ;  which  he  meditates  on  with  joy  and  self- 
approval  in  his  hour  of  love  and  aspiration ;  but  rather 
what  he  then  puts  out  of  sight,  only  showing  the  brilliant 
result,  and  atoning  for  the  manner  of  acquiring,  by  the 
manner  of  expending  it.  I  do  not  charge  the  merchant 
or  the  manufacturer.  The  sins  of  our  trade  belong  to 
no  class,  to  no  individual.  One  plucks,  one  distributes, 
one  eats.  Everybody  partakes,  everybody  confesses,  — 
with  cap  and  knee  volunteers  his  confession,  yet  none 
feels  himself  accountable.  He  did  not  create  the  abuse  ; 
he  cannot  alter  it.  What  is  he  ?  an  obscure  private  per 
son  who  must  get  his  bread.  That  is  the  vice,  —  that  no 
one  feels  himself  called  to  act  for  man,  but  only  as  a 
fraction  of  man.  It  happens  therefore  that  all  such  in 
genuous  souls  as  feel  within  themselves  the  irrepressible 
strivings  of  a  noble  aim,  who  by  the  law  of  their  nature 


190  MAN    THE    REFORMER. 

must  act  simply,  find  these  ways  of  trade  unfit  for  them, 
and  they  come  forth  from  it.  Such  cases  are  becoming 
more  numerous  every  year. 

But  by  coming  out  of  trade  you  have  not  cleared 
yourself.  The  trail  of  the  serpent  reaches  into  all  the 
lucrative  professions  and  practices  of  man.  Each  has  its 
own  wrongs.  Each  finds  a  tender  and  very  intelligent 
conscience  a  disqualification  for  success.  Each  requires 
of  the  practitioner  a  certain  shutting  of  the  eyes,  a  cer 
tain  dapperness  and  compliance,  an  acceptance  of  cus 
toms,  a  sequestration  from  the  sentiments  of  generosity 
and  love,  a  compromise  of  private  opinion  and  integrity. 
Nay,  the  evil  custom  reaches  into  the  whole  institution 
of  property,  until  our  laws  which  establish  and  protect 
it  seem  not  to  be  the  issue  of  love  and  reason,  but  of 
selfishness.  Suppose  a  man  is  so  unhappy  as  to  be  born 
a  saint,  with  keen  perceptions,  but  with  the  conscience 
and  love  of  an  angel,  and  he  is  to  get  his  living  in  the 
world ;  he  finds  himself  excluded  from  all  lucrative 
works ;  he  has  no  farm,  and  he  cannot  get  one ;  for,  to 
earn  money  enough  to  buy  one,  requires  a  sort  of  con 
centration  toward  money,  which  is  the  selling  himself  for 
a  number  of  years,  and  to  him  the  present  hour  is  as 
sacred  and  inviolable  as  any  future  hour.  Of  course, 
whilst  another  man  has  no  land,  my  title  to  mine,  your 
title  to  yours,  is  at  once  vitiated.  Inextricable  seem  to 
be  the  twinings  and  tendrils  of  this  evil,  and  we  all  in 
volve  ourselves  in  it  the  deeper  by  forming  connections, 
by  wives  and  Children,  by  benefits  and  debts. 

Considerations  of  this  kind  have  turned  the  attention 
of  many  philanthropic  and  intelligent  persons  to  the 


MAN    THE    REFORMER.  191 

claims  of  manual  labor,  as  a  part  of  the  education  of 
every  young  man.  If  the  accumulated  wealth  of  the 
past  generations  is  thus  tainted,  —  no  matter  how  much 
of  it  is  offered  to  us,  —  we  must  begin  to  consider  if  it 
were  not  the  nobler  part  to  renounce  it,  and  to  put  our 
selves  into  primary  relations  with  the  soil  and  nature, 
and,  abstaining  from  whatever  is  dishonest  and  unclean, 
to  take  each  of  us  bravely  his  part,  with  his  own  hands, 
in  the  manual  labor  of  the  world. 

But  it  is  said,  '  What !  will  you  give  up  the  immense 
advantages  reaped  from  the  division  of  labor,  and  set 
every  man  to  make  his  own  shoes,  bureau,  knife,  wagon, 
sails,  and  needle  ?  This  would  be  to  put  men  back  into 
barbarism  by  their  own  act.'  I  see  no  instant  prospect 
of  a  virtuous  revolution ;  yet  I  confess,  I  should  not  be 
pained  at  a  change  which  threatened  a  loss  of  some  of 
the  luxuries  or  conveniences  of  society,  if  it  proceeded 
from  a  preference  of  the  agricultural  life  out  of  the 
belief  that  our  primary  duties  as  men  could  be  better 
discharged  in  that  calling.  Who  could  regret  to  see  a 
high  conscience  and  a  purer  taste  exercising  a  sensible 
effect  on  young  men  in  their  choice  of  occupation,  and 
thinning  the  ranks  of  competition  in  the  labors  of  com 
merce,  of  law,  and  of  state  ?  It  is  easy  to  see  that  the 
inconvenience  would  last  but  a  short  time.  This  would 
be  great  action,  which  always  opens  the  eyes  of  men. 
When  many  persons  shall  have  done  this,  when  the 
majority  shall  admit  the  necessity  of  reform  in  all  these 
institutions,  their  abuses  will  be  redressed,  and  the  way 
will  be  open  again  to  the  advantages  which  arise  from 
the  division  of  labor,  and  a  man  may  select  the  fittest 


192  MAN    THE    REFORMER. 

employment  for  his  peculiar  talent  again,  without  com 
promise. 

But  quite  apart  from  the  emphasis  which  the  times 
give  to  the  doctrine,  that  the  manual  labor  of  society 
ought  to  be  shared  among  all  the  members,  there  are 
reasons  proper  to  every  individual,  why  he  should  not 
be  deprived  of  it.  The  use  of  manual  labor  is  one  which 
never  grows  obsolete,  and  which  is  inapplicable  to  no 
person.  A  man  should  have  a  farm  or  a  mechanical 
craft  for  his  culture.  We  must  have  a  basis  for  our 
higher  accomplishments,  our  delicate  entertainments  of 
poetry  and  philosophy,  in  the  work  of  our  hands.  We 
must  have  an  antagonism  in  the  tough  world  for  all  the 
variety  of  our  spiritual  faculties,  or  they  will  not  be 
born.  Manual  labor  is  the  study  of  the  external  world. 
The  advantage  of  riches  remains  with  him  who  procured 
them,  not  with  the  heir.  When  I  go  into  my  garden 
with  a  spade,  and  dig  a  bed,  I  feel  such  an  exhilaration 
and  health,  that  I  discover  that  I  have  been  defrauding 
myself  all  this  time  in  letting  others  do  for  me  what  I 
should  have  done  with  my  own  hands.  But  not  only 
health,  but  education  is  in  the  work.  Is  it  possible  that 
I  who  get  indefinite  quantities  of  sugar,  hominy,  cotton, 
buckets,  crockery-ware,  and  letter-paper,  by  simply  sign 
ing  my  name  once  in  three  months  to  a  check  in  favor  of 
John  Smith  &  Co.,  traders,  get  the  fair  share  of  exercise 
to  my  faculties  by  that  act,  which  nature  intended  for 
me  in  making  all  these  far-fetched  matters  important  to 
my  comfort  ?  It  is  Smith  himself,  and  his  carriers,  and 
dealers,  and  manufacturers,  it  is  the  sailor,  the  hide- 
drogher,  the  butcher,  the  negro,  the  hunter,  and  the 


MAN    THE     REFORMER.  193 

planter,  who  have  intercepted  the  sugar  of  the  sugar, 
and  the  cotton  of  the  cotton.  They  have  got  the  educa 
tion,  I  only  the  commodity.  This  were  all  very  well  if 
I  were  necessarily  absent,  being  detained  by  work  of  my 
own,  like  theirs,  work  of  the  same  faculties  ;  then  should 
I  be  sure  of  my  hands  and  feet,  but  now  I  feel  some 
shame  before  my  wood-chopper,  my  ploughman,  and  my 
cook,  for  they  have  some  sort  of  self-sufficiency,  they 
can  contrive  without  my  aid  to  bring  the  day  and  year 
round,  but  I  depend  on  them,  and  have  not  earned  by 
use  a  right  to  my  arms  and  feet. 

Consider  further  the  difference  between  the  first  and 
second  owner  of  property.  Every  species  of  property  is 
preyed  on  by  its  own  enemies,  as  iron  by  rust ;  timber 
by  rot ;  cloth  by  moths  ;  provisions  by  mould,  putridity, 
or  vermin  ;  money  by  thieves  ;  an  orchard  by  insects  ;  a 
planted  field  by  weeds  and  the  inroad  of  cattle  ;  a  stock 
of  cattle  by  hunger  ;  a  road  by  rain  and  frost ;  a  bridge 
by  freshets.  And  whoever  takes  any  of  these  things 
into  his  possession,  takes  the  charge  of  defending  them 
from  this  troop  of  enemies,  or  of  keeping  them  in  repair. 
A  man  who  supplies  his  own  want,  who  builds  a  raft  or 
a  boat  to  go  a-fishing,  finds  it  easy  to  calk  it,  or  put  in  a 
thole-pin,  or  mend  the  rudder.  What  he  gets  only  as  fast 
as  he  wants  for  his  own  ends,  does  not  embarrass  him, 
or  take  away  his  sleep  with  looking  after.  But  when 
he  comes  to  give  all  the  goods  he  has  year  after  year 
collected,  in  one  estate  to  his  son,  —  house,  orchard, 
ploughed  land,  cattle,  bridges,  hardware,  wooden-ware, 
carpets,  cloths,  provisions,  books,  money,  —  and  cannot 
give  him  the  skill  and  experience  which  made  or  col- 


194  MAN    THE     REFORMER. 

lected  these,  and  the  method  and  place  they  have  in  his 
own  life,  the  son  finds  his  hands  full,  —  not  to  use  these 
things,  —  but  to  look  after  them  and  defend  them  from 
their  natural  enemies.  To  him  they  are  not  means,  but 
masters.  Their  enemies  will  not  remit ;  rust,  mould, 
vermin,  rain,  sun,  freshet,  fire,  all  seize  their  own,  fill 
him  with  vexation,  and  he  is  converted  from  the  owner 
into  a  watchman  or  a  watch-dog  to  this  magazine  of 
old  and  new  chattels.  What  a  change  !  Instead  of  the 
masterly  good-humor,  and  sense  of  power,  and  fertility  of 
resource  in  himself ;  instead  of  those  strong  and  learned 
hands,  those  piercing  and  learned  eyes,  that  supple  body, 
and  that  mighty  and  prevailing  heart,  which  the  father 
had,  whom  nature  loved  and  feared,  whom  snow  and 
rain,  water  and  land,  beast  and  fish,  seemed  all  to  know 
and  to  serve,  we  have  now  a  puny,  protected  person, 
guarded  by  walls  and  curtains,  stoves  and  down  beds, 
coaches,  and  men-servants  and  women-servants  from 
the  earth  and  the  sky,  and  who,  bred  to  depend  on  all 
these,  is  made  anxious  by  all  that  endangers  those  pos 
sessions,  and  is  forced  to  spend  so  much  time  in  guard 
ing  them,  that  he  has  quite  lost  sight  of  their  original 
use,  namely,  to  help  him  to  his  ends,  —  to  the  prose 
cution  of  his  love ;  to  the  helping  of  his  friend,  to  the 
worship  of  his  God,  to  the  enlargement  of  his  knowledge, 
to  the  serving  of  his  country,  to  the  indulgence  of  his 
sentiment,  and  he  is  now  what  is  called  a  rich  man,  — 
the  menial  and  runner  of  his  riches. 

Hence  it  happens  that  the  whole  interest  of  history 
lies  in  the  fortunes  of  the  poor.  Knowledge,  Virtue, 
Power,  are  the  victories  of  man  over  his  necessities,  his 


MAN    THE    REFORMER.  195 

march  to  the  dominion  of  the  world.  Every  man  ought 
to  have  this  opportunity  to  conquer  the  world  for  him 
self.  Only  such  persons  interest  us,  Spartans,  Romans, 
Saracens,  English,  Americans,  who  have  stood  in  the 
jaws  of  need,  and  have  by  their  own  wit  and  might  ex 
tricated  themselves,  and  made  man  victorious. 

I  do  not  wish  to  overstate  this  doctrine  of  labor,  or 
insist  that  every  man  should  be  a  farmer,  any  more  than 
that  every  man  should  be  a  lexicographer.  In  general, 
one  may  say,  that  the  husbandman's  is  the  oldest,  and 
most  universal  profession,  and  that  where  a  man  does  not 
yet  discover  in  himself  any  fitness  for  one  work  more  than 
another,  this  may  be  preferred.  But  the  doctrine  of  the 
Farm  is  merely  this,  that  every  man  ought  to  stand  in 
primary  relations  with  the  work  of  the  world,  ought  to 
do  it  himself,  and  not  to  suffer  the  accident  of  his  having 
a  purse  in  his  pocket,  or  his  having  been  bred  to  some 
dishonorable  and  injurious  craft,  to  sever  him  from  those 
duties ;  and  for  this  reason,  that  labor  is  God's  educa 
tion  ;  that  he  only  is  a  sincere  learner,  he  only  can  be 
come  a  master,  who  learns  the  secrets  of  labor,  and  who 
by  real  cunning  extorts  from  nature  its  sceptre. 

Neither  would  I  shut  my  ears  to  the  plea  of  the 
learned  professions,  of  the  poet,  the  priest,  the  lawgiver, 
and  men  of  study  generally ;  namely,  that  in  the  experi 
ence  of  all  men  of  that  class,  the  amount  of  manual  labor 
which  is  necessary  to  the  maintenance  of  a  family  indis 
poses  and  disqualifies  for  intellectual  exertion.  I  know 
it  often,  perhaps  usually,  happens,  that  where  there  is  a 
fine  organization  apt  for  poetry  and  philosophy,  that  in 
dividual  finds  himself  compelled  to  wait  on  his  thoughts, 


196  MAN    THE    REFORMER. 

to  waste  several  days  that  he  may  enhance  and  glorify 
one ;  and  is  better  taught  by  a  moderate  and  dainty  exer 
cise,  such  as  rambling  in  the  fields,  rowing,  skating, 
hunting,  than  by  the  downright  drudgery  of  the  farmer 
and  the  smith.  I  would  not  quite  forget  the  venerable 
counsel  of  the  Egyptian  mysteries,  which  declared  that 
"  there  were  two  pairs  of  eyes  in  man,  and  it  is  requisite 
that  the  pair  which  are  beneath  should  be  closed,  when 
the  pair  that  are  above  them  perceive,  and  that  when  the 
pair  above  are  closed,  those  which  are  beneath  should  be 
opened."  Yet  I  will  suggest  that  no  separation  from 
labor  can  be  without  some  loss  of  power  and  of  truth  to 
the  seer  himself ;  that,  I  doubt  not,  the  faults  and  vices 
of  our  literature  and  philosophy,  their  too  great  fineness, 
effeminacy,  and  melancholy,  are  attributable  to  the  ener 
vated  and  sickly  habits  of  the  literary  class.  Better 
that  the  book  should  not  be  quite  so  good,  and  the  book 
maker  abler  and  better,  and  not  himself  often  a  ludicrous 
contrast  to  all  that  he  has  written. 

But  granting  that  for  ends  so  sacred  and  dear,  some 
relaxation  must  be  had,  I  think,  that  if  a  man  find  in 
himself  any  strong  bias  to  poetry,  to  art,  to  the  contem 
plative  life,  drawing  him  to  these  things  with  a  devotion 
incompatible  with  good  husbandry,  that  man  ought  to 
reckon  early  with  himself,  and,  respecting  the  compensa 
tions  of  the  Universe,  ought  to  ransom  himself  from  the 
duties  of  economy,  by  a  certain  rigor  and  privation  in  his 
habits.  For  privileges  so  rare  and  grand,  let  him  not 
stint  to  pay  a  great  tax.  Let  him  be  a  csenobite,  a  pau 
per,  and  if  need  be,  celibate  also.  Let  him  learn  to  eat 
his  meals  standing,  and  to  relish  the  taste  of  fair  water 


MAN     THE     REFORMER.  197 

and  black  bread.  He  may  leave  to  others  the  costly  con 
veniences  of  housekeeping,  and  large  hospitality,  and 
the  possession  of  works  of  art.  Let  him  feel  that  genius 
is  a  hospitality,  and  that  he  who  can  create  works  of  art 
needs  not  collect  them.  He  must  live  in  a  chamber,  and 
postpone  his  self-indulgence,  forewarned  and  forearmed 
against  that  frequent  misfortune  of  men  of  genius,  —  the 
taste  for  luxury.  This  is  the  tragedy  of  genius,  —  at 
tempting  to  drive  along  the  ecliptic  with  one  horse  of  the 
heavens  and  one  horse  of  the  earth,  there  is  only  discord 
and  ruin  and  downfall  to  chariot  and  charioteer. 

The  duty  that  every  man  should  assume  his  own  vows, 
should  call  the  institutions  of  society  to  account,  and 
examine  their  fitness  to  him,  gains  in  emphasis,  if  we 
look  at  our  modes  of  living.  Is  our  housekeeping  sacred 
and  honorable"?  Does  it  raise  and  inspire  us,  or  does  it 
cripple  us  instead  ?  I  ought  to  be  armed  by  every  part 
and  function  of  my  household,  by  all  my  social  function, 
by  my  economy,  by  my  feasting,  by  my  voting,  by  my 
traffic.  Yet  I  am  almost  no  party  to  any  of  these  things. 
Custom  does  it  for  me,  gives  me  no  power  therefrom, 
and  runs  me  in  debt  to  boot.  We  spend  our  incomes  for 
paint  and  paper,  for  a  hundred  trifles,  I  know  not  what, 
and  not  for  the  things  of  a  man.  Our  expense  is  almost 
all  for  conformity.  It  is  for  cake  that  we  run  in  debt ; 
't  is  not  the  intellect,  not  the  heart,  not  beauty,  not  wor 
ship,  that  costs  so  much.  Why  needs  any  man  be  rich  ? 
Why  must  he  have  horses,  fine  garments,  handsome 
apartments,  access  to  public  houses,  and  places  of  amuse 
ment  ?  Only  for  want  of  thought.  Give  his  mind  a  new 
image,  and  he  flees  into  a  solitary  garden  or  garret  to 


198  MAN    THE    REFORMER. 

enjoy  it,  and  is  richer  with  that  dream,  than  the  fee  of  a 
county  could  make  him.  But  we  are  first  thoughtless, 
and  then  find  that  we  are  moneyless.  We  are  first  sen 
sual,  and  then  must  be  rich.  We  dare  not  trust  our  wit 
for  making  our  house  pleasant  to  our  friend,  and  so  we 
buy  ice-creams.  He  is  accustomed  to  carpets,  and  we 
have  not  sufficient  character  to  put  floor-cloths  out  of  his 
mind  whilst  he  stays  in  the  house,  and  so  we  pile  the 
floor  with  carpets.  Let  the  house  rather  be  a  temple  of 
the  Furies  of  Lacedsernon,  formidable  and  holy  to  all, 
which  none  but  a  Spartan  may  enter  or  so  much  as 
behold.  As  soon  as  there  is  faith,  as  soon  as  there  is 
society,  comfits  and  cushions  will  be  left  to  slaves.  Ex 
pense  will  be  inventive  and  heroic.  We  shall  eat  hard 
and  lie  hard,  we  shall  dwell  like  the  ancient  Romans  in 
narrow  tenements,  whilst  our  public  edifices,  like  theirs, 
will  be  worthy,  for  their  proportion,  of  the  landscape  in 
which  we  set  them,  for  conversation,  for  art,  for  music, 
for  worship.  We  shall  be  rich  to  great  purposes  ;  poor 
only  for  selfish  ones. 

Now  what  help  for  these  evils  ?  How  can  the  man 
who  has  learned  but  one  art,  procure  all  the  conveniences 
of  life  honestly  ?  Shall  we  say  all  we  think  ?  —  Perhaps 
with  his  own  hands.  Suppose  he  collects  or  makes  them 
ill ;  —  yet  he  has  learned  their  lesson.  If  he  cannot  do 
that.  —  Then  perhaps  he  can  go  without.  Immense  wis 
dom  and  riches  are  in  that.  It  is  better  to  go  without, 
than  to  have  them  at  too  great  a  cost.  Let  us  learn  the 
meaning  of  economy.  Economy  is  a  high,  humane  office, 
a  sacrament,  when  its  aim  is  grand ;  when  it  is  the  pru 
dence  of  simple  tastes,  when  it  is  practised  for  freedom, 


MAN    THE    REFORMER.  199 

or  love,  or  devotion.  Much  of  the  economy  which  we 
see  in  houses  is  of  a  base  origin,  and  is  best  kept  out  of 
sight.  Parched  corn  eaten  to-day  that  I  may  have  roast 
fowl  to  my  dinner  on  Sunday,  is  a  baseness  ;  but  parched 
corn  and  a  house  with  one  apartment,  that  I  may  be  free 
of  all  perturbations,  that  I  may  be  serene  and  docile  to 
what  the  mind  shall  speak,  and  girt  and  road-ready  for 
the  lowest  mission  of  knowledge  or  good-will,  is  frugality 
for  gods  and  heroes. 

Can  we  not  learn  the  lesson  of  self-help  ?  Society  is  full 
of  infirm  people,  who  incessantly  summon  others  to  serve 
them.  They  contrive  everywhere  to  exhaust  for  their 
single  comfort  the  entire  means  and  appliances  of  that 
luxury  to  which  our  invention  has  yet  attained.  Sofas, 
ottomans,  stoves,  wine,  game-fowl,  spices,  perfumes, 
rides,  the  theatre,  entertainments,  —  all  these  they  want, 
they  need,  and  whatever  can  be  suggested  more  than 
these,  they  crave  also,  as  if  it  was  the  bread  which  should 
keep  them  from  starving ;  and  if  they  miss  any  one,  they 
represent  themselves  as  the  most  wronged  and  most 
wretched  persons  on  earth.  One  must  have  been  born 
and  bred  with  them  to  know  how  to  prepare  a  meal  for 
their  learned  stomach.  Meantime,  they  never  bestir 
themselves  to  serve  another  person ;  not  they  !  they 
have  a  great  deal  more  to  do  for  themselves  than  they 
can  possibly  perform,  nor  do  they  once  perceive  the  cruel 
joke  of  their  lives,  but  the  more  odious  they  grow,  the 
sharper  is  the  tone  of  their  complaining  and  craving. 
Can  anything  be  so  elegant  as  to  have  few  wants  and  to 
serve  them  one's  self,  so  as  to  have  somewhat  left  to  give, 
instead  of  being  always  prompt  to  grab?  It  is  more 


200  MAN     THE    REFORMER. 

elegant  to  answer  one's  own  needs,  than  to  be  richly 
served  ;  inelegant  perhaps  it  may  look  to-day,  and  to  a 
few,  but  it  is  an  elegance  forever  and  to  all. 

I  do  not  wish  to  be  absurd  and  pedantic  in  reform.  I 
do  not  wish  to  push  my  criticism  on  the  state  of  things 
around  me  to  that  extravagant  mark,  that  shall  compel 
me  to  suicide,  or  to  an  absolute  isolation  from  the  advan 
tages  of  civil  society.  If  we  suddenly  plant  our  foot,  and 
say,  —  I  will  neither  eat  nor  drink  nor  wear  nor  touch 
any  food  or  fabric  which  I  do  not  know  to  be  innocent, 
or  deal  with  any  person  whose  whole  manner  of  life  is 
not  clear  and  rational,  we  shall  stand  still.  Whose  is  so  ? 
Not  mine ;  not  thine  ;  not  his.  But  I  think  we  must 
clear  ourselves  each  one  by  the  interrogation,  whether  we 
have  earned  our  bread  to-day  by  the  hearty  contribution 
of  our  energies  to  the  common  benefit  ?  and  we  must  not 
cease  to  tend  to  the  correction  of  flagrant  wrongs,  by 
laying  one  stone  aright  every  day. 

But  the  idea  which  now  begins  to  agitate  society  has  a 
wider  scope  than  our  daily  employments,  our  households, 
and  the  institutions  of  property.  We  are  to  revise  the 
whole  of  our  social  structure,  the  state,  the  school,  relig 
ion,  marriage,  trade,  science,  and  explore  their  founda 
tions  in  our  own  nature ;  we  are  to  see  that  the  world 
not  only  fitted  the  former  men,  but  fits  us,  and  to  clear 
ourselves  of  every  usage  which  has  not  its  roots  in  our 
own  mind.  What  is  a  man  born  for  but  to  be  a  Re 
former,  a  Re-maker  of  what  man  has  made  ;  a  renouncer 
of  lies  ;  a  restorer  of  truth  and  good,  imitating  that  great 
Nature  which  embosoms  us  all,  and  which  sleeps  no  mo 
ment  on  an  old  past,  but  every  hour  repairs  herself,  yield- 


MAN    THE    REFORMER.  201 

ing  us  every  morning  a  new  day,  and  with  every  pulsation 
a  new  life  ?  Let  him  renounce  everything  which  is  not 
true  to  him,  and  put  all  his  practices  back  on  their  first 
thoughts,  and  do  nothing  for  which  he  has  not  the  whole 
world  for  his  reason.  If  there  are  inconveniences,  and 
what  is  called  ruin  in  the  way,  because  we  have  so  ener 
vated  and  maimed  ourselves,  yet  it  would  be  like  dying 
of  perfumes  to  sink  in  the  effort  to  re-attach  the  deeds  of 
every  day  to  the  holy  and  mysterious  recesses  of  life. 

The  power,  which  is  at  once  spring  and  regulator  in  all 
efforts  of  reform,  is  the  conviction  that  there  is  an  infinite 
worthiness  in  man  which  will  appear  at  the  call  of  worth, 
and  that  all  particular  reforms  are  the  removing  of  some  ( 
impediment.  Is  it  not  the  highest  duty  that  man  should 
be  honored  in  us  ?  I  ought  not  to  allow  any  man,  be 
cause  he  has  broad  lands,  to  feel  that  he  is  rich  in  my 
presence.  I  ought  to  make  him  feel  that  I  can  do  with 
out  his  riches,  that  I  cannot  be  bought,  —  neither  by 
comfort,  neither  by  pride,  —  and  though  I  be  utterly 
penniless,  and  receiving  bread  from  him,  that  he  is  the 
poor  man  beside  me.  And  if,  at  the  same  time,  a  woman 
or  a  child  discovers  a  sentiment  of  piety,  or  a  juster  way 
of  thinking  than  mine,  I  ought  to  confess  it  by  my  re 
spect  and  obedience,  though  it  go  to  alter  my  whole  way 
of  life. 

The  Americans  have  many  virtues,  but  they  have  not 
Faith  and  Hope.  I  know  no  two  words  whose  meaning 
is  more  lost  sight  of.  We  use  these  words  as  if  they 
were  as  obsolete  as  Selah  and  Amen.  And  yet  they  have 
the  broadest  meaning,  and  the  most  cogent  application  to 
Boston  in  this  year.  The  Americans  have  little  faith. 


202  MAN     THE     REFORMER. 

They  rely  on  the  power  of  a  dollar  ;  they  are  deaf  to  a  sen 
timent.  They  think  you  may  talk  the  north-wind  down 
as  easily  as  raise  society  ;  and  no  class  more  faithless  than 
the  scholars  or  intellectual  men.  Now  if  I  talk  with  a 
sincere  wise  man,  and  my  friend,  with  a  poet,  with  a  con 
scientious  youth  who  is  still  under  the  dominion  of  his 
own  wild  thoughts,  and  not  yet  harnessed  in  the  team  of 
society  to  drag  with  us  all  in  the  ruts  of  custom,  I  see  at 
once  how  paltry  is  all  this  generation  of  unbelievers,  and 
what  a  house  of  cards  their  institutions  are,  and  I  see 
what  one  brave  man,  what  one  great  thought  executed 
might  effect.  I  see  that  the  reason  of  the  distrust  of 
the  practical  man  in  all  theory  is  his  inability  to  perceive 
the  means  whereby  we  work.  Look,  he  says,  at  the  tools 
with  which  this  world  of  yours  is  to  be  built.  As  we 
cannot  make  a  planet,  with  atmosphere,  rivers,  and  for 
ests,  by  means  of  the  best  carpenters'  or  engineers'  tools, 
with  chemist's  laboratory  and  smith's  forge  to  boot,  —  so 
neither  can  we  ever  construct  that  heavenly  society  you 
prate  of,  out  of  foolish,  sick,  selfish  men  and  women,  such 
as  we  know  them  to  be.  But  the  believer  not  only  be 
holds  his  heaven  to  be  possible,  but  already  to  begin  to 

exist, not  by  the  men  or  materials  the  statesman  uses, 

but  by  men  transfigured  and  raised  above  themselves  by 
the  power  of  principles.  To  principles  something  else  is 
possible  that  transcends  all  the  power  of  expedients. 

Every  great  and  commanding  moment  in  the  annals  of 
the  world  is  the  triumph  of  some  enthusiasm.  The  vic 
tories  of  the  Arabs  after  Mahomet,  who,  in  a  few  years, 
from  a  small  and  mean  beginning,  established  a  larger 
empire  than  that  of  Rome,  is  an  example.  They  did  they 


MAN    THE    REFORMER.  203 

knew  not  what.  The  naked  Derar,  horsed  on  an  idea, 
was  found  an  overmatch  for  a  troop  of  Roman  cavalry. 
The  women  fought  like  men,  and  conquered  the  Roman 
men.  They  were  miserably  equipped,  miserably  fed. 
They  were  Temperance  troops.  There  was  neither 
brandy  nor  flesh  needed  to  feed  them.  They  conquered 
Asia,  and  Africa,  and  Spain,  on  barley.  The  Caliph 
Omar's  walking-stick  struck  more  terror  into  those  who 
saw  it,  than  another  man's  sword.  His  diet  was  barley 
bread ;  his  sauce  was  salt ;  and  oftentimes  by  way  of  absti 
nence  he  ate  his  bread  without  salt.  His  drink  was  water. 
His  palace  was  built  of  mud  ;  and  when  he  left  Medina  to 
go  to  the  conquest  of  Jerusalem,  he  rode  on  a  red  camel, 
with  a  wooden  platter  hanging  at  his  saddle,  with  a  bottle 
of  water  and  two  sacks,  one  holding  barley,  and  the  other 
dried  fruits. 

But  there  will  dawn  erelong  on  our  politics,  on  our 
modes  of  living,  a  nobler  morning  than  that  Arabian 
faith,  in  the  sentiment  of  love.  This  is  the  one  remedy 
for  all  ills,  the  panacea  of  nature.  We  must  be  lovers, 
and  at  once  the  impossible  becomes  possible.  Our  age 
and  history,  for  these  thousand  years,  has  not  been  the 
history  of  kindness,  but  of  selfishness.  Our  distrust  is 
very  expensive.  The  money  we  spend  for  courts  and 
prisons  is  very  ill  laid  out.  We  make,  by  distrust,  the 
thief,  and  burglar,  and  incendiary,  and  by  our  court  and 
jail  we  keep  him  so.  An  acceptance  of  the  sentiment  of 
love  throughout  Christendom  for  a  season,  would  bring 
the  felon  and  the  outcast  to  our  side  in  tears,  with  the 
devotion  of  his  faculties  to  our  service.  See  this  wide 
society  of  laboring  men  and  women.  We  allow  ourselves 


204  MAN    THE     REFORMER. 

to  be  served  by  them,  we  live  apart  from  them,  and  meet 
them  without  a  salute  in  the  streets.  We  do  not  greet 
their  talents,  nor  rejoice  in  their  good  fortune,  nor  foster 
their  hopes,  nor  in  the  assembly  of  the  people  vote  for 
what  is  dear  to  them.  Thus  we  enact  the  part  of  the 
selfish  noble  and  king  from  the  foundation  of  the  world. 
See,  this  tree  always  bears  one  fruit.  In  every  house 
hold,  the  peace  of  a  pair  is  poisoned  by  the  malice,  sly 
ness,  indolence,  and  alienation  of  domestics.  Let  any 
two  matrons  meet,  and  observe  how  soon  their  conver 
sation  turns  on  the  troubles  from  their  "  help,"  as  our 
phrase  is.  In  every  knot  of  laborers,  the  rich  man  does 
not  feel  himself  among  his  friends,  —  and  at  the  polls  he 
finds  them  arrayed  in  a  mass  in  distinct  opposition  to 
him.  We  complain  that  the  politics  of  masses  of  the 
people  are  controlled  by  designing  men,  and  led  in  oppo 
sition  to  manifest  justice  and  the  common  weal,  and  to 
their  own  interest.  But  the  people  do  not  wish  to  be 
represented  or  ruled  by  the  ignorant  and  base.  They 
only  vote  for  these,  because  they  were  asked  with  the 
voice  and  semblance  of  kindness.  They  will  not  vote  for 
them  long.  They  inevitably  prefer  wit  and  probity.  To 
use  an  Egyptian  metaphor,  it  is  not  their  will  for  any 
long  time  "  to  raise  the  nails  of  wild  beasts,  and  to  de 
press  the  heads  of  the  sacred  birds."  Let  our  affection 
flow  out  to  our  fellows ;  it  would  operate  in  a  day  the 
greatest  of  all  revolutions.  It  is  better  to  work  on  insti 
tutions  by  the  sun  than  by  the  wind.  The  state  must 
consider  the  poor  man,  and  all  voices  must  speak  for  him. 
Every  child  that  is  born  must  have  a  just  chance  for  his 
bread.  Let  the  amelioration  in  our  laws  of  property 


J 

MAN    THE    REFORMER.  205 

proceed  from  the  concession  of  the  rich,  not  from  the 
grasping  of  the  poor.  Let  us  begin  by  habitual  impart 
ing.  Let  us  understand  that  the  equitable  rule  is,  that 
no  one  should  take  more  than  his  share,  let  him  be  ever 
so  rich.  Let  me  feel  that  I  am  to  be  a  lover.  I  am  to  i 
see  to  it  that  the  world  is  the  better  for  me,  and  to  find  j 
my  reward  in  the  act.  Love  would  put  a  new  face  on  this 
weary  old  world  in  which  we  dwell  as  pagans  and  enemies 
too  long,  and  it  would  warm  the  heart  to  see  how  fast  the 
vain  diplomacy  of  statesmen,  the  impotence  of  armies,  and 
navies,  and  lines  of  defence,  would  be  superseded  by  this 
unarmed  child.  Love  will  creep  where  it  cannot  go,  will 
accomplish  that  by  imperceptible  methods,  —  being  its 
own  lever,  fulcrum,  and  power,  —  which  force  could 
never  achieve.  Have  you  not  seen  in  the  woods,  in  a  late 
autumn  morning,  a  poor  fungus  or  mushroom,  —  a  plant 
without  any  solidity,  nay,  that  seemed  nothing  but  a  soft 
mush  or  jelly,  —  by  its  constant,  total,  and  inconceivably 
gentle  pushing,  manage  to  break  its  way  up  through  the 
frosty  ground,  and  actually  to  lift  a  hard  crust  on  its 
head  ?  It  is  the  symbol  of  the  power  of  kindness.  The 
virtue  of  this  principle  in  human  society  in  application  to 
great  interests  is  obsolete  and  forgotten.  Once  or  twice 
in  history  it  has  been  tried  in  illustrious  instances,  with 
signal  success.  This  great,  overgrown,  dead  Christen 
dom  of  ours  still  keeps  alive  at  least  the  name  of  a  lover 
of  mankind.  But  one  day  all  men  will  be  lovers ;  and 
every  calamity  will  be  dissolved  in  the  universal  sunshine. 
Will  you  suffer  me  to  add  one  trait  more  to  this  por 
trait  of  man  the  reformer  ?  The  mediator  between  the 
spiritual  and  the  actual  world  should  have  a  great  pro- 


206  MAN    THE    REFORMER. 

spective  prudence.  An  Arabian  poet  describes  his  hero 
by  saying, 

"  Sunshine  was  he 

In  the  winter  day  ; 

And  in  the  midsummer 

Coolness  and  shade." 

He  who  would  help  himself  and  others,  should  not  be 
a  subject  of  irregular  and  interrupted  impulses  of  virtue, 
but  a  continent,  persisting,  immovable  person,  —  such  as 
we  have  seen  a  few  scattered  up  and  down  in  time  for 
the  blessing  of  the  world  ;  men  who  have  in  the  gravity 
of  their  nature  a  quality  which  answers  to  the  fly-wheel 
in  a  mill,  which  distributes  the  motion  equably  over  all 
the  wheels,  and  hinders  it  from  falling  unequally  and 
suddenly  in  destructive  shocks.  It  is  better  that  joy 
should  be  spread  over  all  the  day  in  the  form  of  strength, 
than  that  it  should  be  concentrated  into  ecstasies,  full  of 
danger  and  followed  by  reactions.  There  is  a  sublime 
prudence,  which  is  the  very  highest  that  we  know  of 
man,  which,  believing  in  a  vast  future,  —  sure  of  more  to 
come  than  is  yet  seen,  —  postpones  always  the  present 
hour  to  the  whole  life  ;  postpones  talent  to  genius,  and 
special  results  to  character.  As  the  merchant  gladly 
takes  money  from  his  income  to  add  to  his  capital,  so  is 
the  great  man  willing  to  lose  particular  powers  and  tal 
ents,  so  that  he  gain  in  the  elevation  of  his  life.  The 
opening  of  the  spiritual  senses  disposes  men  ever  to 
greater  sacrifices,  to  leave  their  signal  talents,  their 
means  and  skill  of  procuring  a  present  success,  their 
power  and  their  fame,  —  to  cast  all  things  behind,  in  the 
insatiable  thirst  for  divine  communications.  A  purer 


MAN    THE    REFORMER.  207 

fame,  a  greater  power,  rewards  the  sacrifice.  It  is  the 
conversion  of  our  harvest  into  seed.  As  the  fanner 
casts  into  the  ground  the  finest  ears  of  his  grain,  the 
time  will  come  when  we  too  shall  hold  nothing  back,  but 
shall  eagerly  convert  more  than  we  now  possess  into 
means  and  powers,  when  we  shall  be  willing  to  sow  the 
sun,  and  the  moon  for  seeds. 


LECTURE   ON   THE  TIMES. 


READ  AT  THE  MASONIC  TEMPLE,  BOSTON,  DECEMBER 
2,  1841. 


LECTUEE   ON   THE   TIMES. 


THE  Times,  as  we  say,  —  or  the  present  aspects  of  our 
social  state,  the  Laws,  Divinity,  Natural  Science,  Agri 
culture,  Art,  Trade,  Letters,  —  have  their  root  in  an 
invisible  spiritual  reality.  To  appear  in  these  aspects, 
they  must  first  exist,  or  have  some  necessary  foundation. 
Beside  all  the  small  reasons  we  assign,  there  is  a  great 
reason  for  the  existence  of  every  extant  fact ;  a  reason 
which  lies  grand  and  immovable,  often  unsuspected  be 
hind  it  in  silence.  The  Times  are  the  masquerade  of 
the  eternities ;  trivial  to  the  dull,  tokens  of  noble  and 
majestic  agents  to  the  wise ;  the  receptacle  in  which  the 
Past  leaves  its  history  ;  the  quarry  out  of  which  the  genius 
of  to-day  is  building  up  the  Future.  The  Times,  — •  the 
nations,  manners,  institutions,  opinions,  votes,  are  to  be 
studied  as  omens,  as  sacred  leaves,  whereon  a  weighty 
sense  is  inscribed,  if  he  have  the  wit  and  the  love  to 
search  it  out.  Nature  itself  seems  to  propound  to  us 
this  topic,  and  to  invite  us  to  explore  the  meaning  of  the 
conspicuous  facts  of  the  day.  Everything  that  is  popu 
lar,  it  has  been  said,  deserves  the  attention  of  the  phi- 
losopher :  and  this  for  the  obvious  reason,  that  although 
it  may  not  be  of  any  worth  in  itself,  yet  it  characterizes 
the  people. 


212  LECTURE    ON    THE     TIMES. 

Here  is  very  good  matter  to  be  handled,  if  we  are  skil 
ful  ;  an  abundance  of  important  practical  questions  which 
it  behooves  us  to  understand.  Let  us  examine  the  pre 
tensions  of  the  attacking  and  defending  parties.  Here 
is  this  great  fact  of  Conservatism,  intrenched  in  its  im 
mense  redoubts,  with  Himmaleh  for  its  front,  and  Atlas 
for  its  flank,  and  Andes  for  its  rear,  and  tbe  Atlantic 
and  Pacific  seas  for  its  ditches  and  trenches,  which  has 
planted  its  crosses,  and  crescents,  and  stars  and  stripes, 
and  various  signs  and  badges  of  possession,  over  every 
rood  of  the  planet,  and  says  :  "  I  will  hold  fast ;  and  to 
whom  I  will,  will  I  give ;  and  whom  I  will,  will  I  ex 
clude  and  starve  "  :  so  says  Conservatism  ;  and  all  the 
children  of  men  attack  the  colossus  in  their  youth,  and 
all,  or  all  but  a  few,  bow  before  it  when  they  are  old. 
A  necessity  not  yet  commanded,  a  negative  imposed  on 
the  will  of  man  by  his  condition,  a  deficiency  in  his  force, 
is  the  foundation  on  which  it  rests.  Let  this  side  be 
fairly  stated.  Meantime,  on  the  other  part,  arises  Re 
form,  and  offers  the  sentiment  of  Love  as  an  overmatch 
to  this  material  might.  I  wish  to  consider  well  this 
affirmative  side,  which  has  a  loftier  port  and  reason  than 
heretofore,  which  encroaches  on  the  other  every  day, 
puts  it  out  of  countenance,  out  of  reason,  and  out  of 
temper,  and  leaves  it  nothing  but  silence  and  possession. 

The  fact  of  aristocracy,  with  its  two  weapons  of  wealth 
and  manners,  is  as  commanding  a  feature  of  the  nine 
teenth  century,  and  the  American  republic,  as  of  old 
Rome  or  modern  England.  The  reason  and  influence  of 
wealth,  the  aspect  of  philosophy  and  religion,  and  the 
tendencies  which  have  acquired  the  name  of  Transcen- 


LECTURE     ON    THE     TIMES.  213 

dentalism  in  Old  and  New  England ;  the  aspect  of 
poetry,  as  the  exponent  and  interpretation  of  these 
things;  the  fuller  development  and  the  freer  play  of 
1  Character  as  a  social  and  political  agent ;  —  these  and 
other  related  topics  will  in  turn  come  to  be  considered. 

But  the  subject  of  the  Times  is  not  an  abstract  ques 
tion.  We  talk  of  the  world,  but  we  mean  a  few  men 
and  women.  If  you  speak  of  the  age,  you  mean  your 
own  platoon  of  people,  as  Dante  and  Milton  painted  in 
colossal  their  platoons,  and  called  them  Heaven  and 
Hell.  In  our  idea  of  progress,  we  do  not  go  out  of 
this  personal  picture.  We  do  not  think  the  sky  will  be 
bluer,  or  honey  sweeter,  or  our  climate  more  temperate, 
but  only  that  our  relation  to  our  fellows  will  be  simpler 
and  happier.  What  is  the  reason  to  be  given  for  this 
extreme  attraction  which  persons  have  for  us,  but  that 
they  are  the  Age  ?  they  are  the  results  of  the  Past ;  they 
are  the  heralds  of  the  Euture.  They  indicate  —  these 
witty,  suffering,  blushing,  intimidating  figures  of  the  only 
race  in  which  there  are  individuals  or  changes  —  how 
far  on  the  Fate  has  gone,  and  what  it  drives  at.  As 
trees  make  scenery,  and  constitute  the  hospitality  of 
the  landscape,  so  persons  are  the  world  to  persons  —  a 
cunning  mystery  by  which  the  Great  Desert  of  thoughts 
and  of  planets  takes  this  engaging  form,  to  bring,  as  it 
would  seem,  its  meanings  nearer  to  the  mind.  Thoughts 
walk  and  speak,  and  look  with  eyes  at  me,  and  transport 
me  into  new  and  magnificent  scenes.  These  are  the 
pungent  instructors  who  thrill  the  heart  of  each  of  us, 
and  make  all  other  teaching  formal  and  cold.  How 
I  follow  them  with  aching  heart,  with  pining  desire! 


J 


£14  LECTURE    ON    THE    TIMES. 

I  count  myself  nothing  before  them.  I  would  die  for 
them  with  joy.  They  can  do  what  they  will  with  me. 
How  they  lash  us  with  those  tongues  !  How  they  make 
the  tears  start,  make  us  blush  and  turn  pale,  and  lap  us 
in  Elysium  to  soothing  dreams,  and  castles  in  the  air ! 
By  tones  of  triumph;  of  dear  love;  by  threats;  by 
pride  that  freezes ;  these  have  the  skill  to  make  the  world 
look  bleak  and  inhospitable,  or  seem  the  nest  of  tenderness 
and  joy.  I  do  not  wonder  at  the  miracles  which  poetry 
attributes  to  the  music  of  Orpheus,  when  I  remember  what 
I  have  experienced  from  the  varied  notes  of  the  human 
voice.  They  are  an  incalculable  energy  which  counter 
vails  all  other  forces  in  nature,  because  they  are  the  chan 
nel  of  supernatural  powers.  There  is  no  interest  or  in 
stitution  so  poor  and  withered,  but  if  a  new  strong  man 
could  be  born  into  it,  he  would  immediately  redeem  and 
replace  it.  A  personal  ascendency,  —  that  is  the  only  fact 
much  worth  considering.  I  remember,  some  years  ago, 
somebody  shocked  a  circle  of  friends  of  order  here  in  Bos 
ton,  who  supposed  that  our  people  were  identified  with 
their  religious  denominations,  by  declaring  that  an  elo 
quent  man  —  let  him  be  of  what  sect  soever  —  would  be 
ordained  at  once  in  one  of  our  metropolitan  churches. 
To  be  sure  he  would ;  and  not  only  in  ours,  but  in  any 
church,  mosque,  or  temple,  on  the  plauet ;  but  he  must 
be  eloquent,  able  to  supplant  our  method  and  classifica 
tion,  by  the  superior  beauty  of  his  own.  Every  fact  we 
have  was  brought  here  by  some  person;  and  there  is 
none  that  will  not  change  and  pass  away  before  a  person 
whose  nature  is  broader  than  the  person  whom  the  fact 
in  question  represents.  And  so  I  find  the  Age  walking 


LECTURE  ON  THE  TIMES.     215 

about  in  happy  and  hopeful  natures,  in  strong  eyes  and 
pleasant  thoughts,  and  think  I  read  it  nearer  and  truer 
so,  than  in  the  statute-book,  or  in  the  investments  of 
capital,  which  rather  celebrate  with  mournful  music  the 
obsequies  of  the  last  age.  In  the  brain  of  a  fanatic  ;  in 
the  wild  hope  of  a  mountain  boy,  called  by  city  boys  very 
ignorant,  because  they  do  not  know  what  his  hope  has 
certainly  apprised  him  shall  be ;  in  the  love-glance  of 
a  girl ;  in  the  hair-splitting  conscientiousness  of  some 
eccentric  person,  who  has  found  some  new  scruple  to  em 
barrass  himself  and  his  neighbors  withal ;  is  to  be  found 
that  which  shall  constitute  the  times  to  come,  more  than 
in  the  now  organized  and  accredited  oracles.  For,  what 
ever  is  affirmative  and  now  advancing,  contains  it.  I 
think  that  only  is  real  which  men  love  and  rejoice  in ; 
not  what  they  tolerate,  but  what  they  choose ;  what  they 
embrace  and  avow,  and  not  the  things  which  chill,  be 
numb,  and  terrify  them. 

And  so  why  not  draw  for  these  times  a  portrait-gallery  ? 
Let  us  paint  the  painters.  Whilst  the  Daguerreotypist, 
with  camera-obscura  and  silver  plate,  begins  now  to  trav 
erse  the  land,  let  us  set  up  our  Camera  also,  and  let  the 
sun  paint  the  people.  Let  us  paint  the  agitator,  and  the 
man  of  the  old  school,  and  the  member  of  Congress,  and 
the  college  professor,  the  formidable  editor,  the  priest,  and 
reformer,  the  contemplative  girl,  and  the  fair  aspirant 
for  fashion  and  opportunities,  the  woman  of  the  world 
who  has  tried  and  knows ;  —  let  us  examine  how  well 
she  knows.  Could  we  indicate  the  indicators,  indicate 
those  who  most  accurately  represent  every  good  and  evil 
tendency  of  the  general  mind,  in  the  just  order  which 


£16  LECTURE    ON     THE     TIMES. 

they  take  on  this  canvas  of  Time ;  so  that  all  witnesses 
should  recognize  a  spiritual  law,  as  each  well-known 
form  flitted  for  a  moment  across  the  wall,  we  should 
have  a  series  of  sketches  which  would  report  to  the 
next  ages  the  color  and  quality  of  ours. 

Certainly,  I  think,  if  this  were  done,  there  would  be 
much  to  admire  as  well  as  to  condemn  ;  souls  of  as  lofty 
a  port,  as  any  in  Greek  or  Roman  fame,  might  appear ; 
men  of  great  heart,  of  strong  hand,  and  of  persuasive 
speech  ;  subtle  thinkers,  and  men  of  wide  sympathy,  and 
an  apprehension  which  looks  over  all  history,  and  every 
where  recognizes  its  own.  To  be  sure,  there  will  be 
fragments  and  hints  of  men,  more  than  enough  :  bloated 
promises,  which  end  in  nothing  or  little.  And  then,  truly 
great  men,  but  with  some  defect  in  their  composition, 
which  neutralizes  their  whole  force.  Here  is  a  general 
without  a  command,  a  Damascus  blade,  such  as  you  may 
search  through  nature  in  vain  to  parallel,  laid  up  on  the 
shelf  in  some  village  to  rust  and  ruin.  And  how  many 
seem  not  quite  available  for  that  idea  which  they  repre 
sent  !  Now  and  then  comes  a  bolder  spirit,  I  should 
rather  say,  a  more  surrendered  soul,  more  informed  and 
led  by  God,  which  is  much  in  advance  of  the  rest,  quite 
beyond  their  sympathy,  but  predicts  what  shall  soon  be 
the  general  fulness  ;  as  when  we  stand  by  the  sea-shore, 
whilst  the  tide  is  coming  in,  a  wave  comes  up  the  beach 
far  higher  than  any  foregoing  one,  and  recedes ;  and  for 
a  long  while  none  comes  up  to  that  mark ;  but  after 
some  time  the  whole  sea  is  there  and  beyond  it. 

But  we  are  not  permitted  to  stand  as  spectators  of  the 
pageant  which  the  times  exhibit:  we  are  parties  also, 


LECTURE  ON  THE  TIMES.      217 

and  have  a  responsibility  which  is  not  to  be  declined. 
A  little  while  this  interval  of  wonder  and  comparison  is 
permitted  us,  but  to  the  end  that  we  shall  play  a  manly 
part.  As  the  solar  system  moves  forward  in  the  heavens, 
certain  stars  open  before  us,  and  certain  stars  close  up 
behind  us ;  so  is  man's  life.  The  reputations  that  were 
great  and  inaccessible  change  and  tarnish.  How  great 
were  once  Lord  Bacon's  dimensions  !  he  is  now  reduced 
almost  to  the  middle  height ;  and  many  another  star  has 
turned  out  to  be  a  planet  or  an  asteroid  :  only  a  few  are 
the  fixed  stars  which  have  no  parallax,  or  none  for  us. 
The  change  and  decline  of  old  reputations  are  the  gra 
cious  marks  of  our  own  growth.  Slowly,  like  light  of 
morning,  it  steals  on  us,  the  new  fact,  that  we,  who  were 
pupils  or  aspirants,  are  now  society :  do  compose  a  por 
tion  of  that  head  and  heart  we  are  wont  to  think  worthy 
of  all  reverence  and  heed.  We  are  the  representatives 
of  religion  and  intellect,  and  stand  in  the  light  of  Ideas, 
whose  rays  stream  through  us  to  those  younger  and  more 
in  the  dark.  What  further  relations  we  sustain,  what 
new  lodges  we  are  entering,  is  now  unknown.  To-day 
is  a  king  in  disguise.  To-day  always  looks  mean  to  the 
thoughtless,  in  the  face  of  an  uniform  experience,  that 
all  good  and  great  and  happy  actions  are  made  up  pre 
cisely  of  these  blank  todays.  Let  us  not  be  so  deceived. 
Let  us  unmask  the  king  as  he  passes.  Let  us  not  in 
habit  times  of  wonderful  and  various  promise  without 
divining  their  tendency.  Let  us  not  see  the  foundations 
of  nations,  and  of  a  new  and  better  order  of  things  laid, 
with  roving  eyes,  and  an  attention  preoccupied  with 
trifles. 

10 


18  LECTUllE     ON     THE    TIMES. 

The  two  omnipresent  parties  of  History,  the  party  of 
the  Past  and  the  party  of  the  Future,  divide  society  to 
day  as  of  old.  Here  is  the  innumerable  multitude  of 
those  who  accept  the  state  and  the  church  from  the  last 
generation,  and  stand  on  no  argument  but  possession. 
They  have  reason  also,  and,  as  I  think,  better  reason 
than  is  commonly  stated.  No  Burke,  no  Metternich,  has 
yet  done  full  justice  to  the  side  of  conservatism.  But 
this  class,  however  large,  relying  not  on  the  intellect  but 
on  instinct,  blends  itself  with  the  brute  forces  of  nature, 
is  respectable  only  as  nature  is,  but  the  individuals  have 
no  attraction  for  us.  It  is  the  dissenter,  the  theorist, 
the  aspirant,  who  is  quitting  this  ancient  domain  to  em 
bark  on  seas  of  adventure,  who  engages  our  interest. 
Omitting  then  for  the  present  all  notice  of  the  stationary 
class,  we  shall  find  that  the  movement  party  divides  itself 
into  two  classes,  the  actors  and  the  students. 

The  actors  constitute  that  great  army  of  martyrs  who, 
at  least  in  America,  by  their  conscience  and  philanthropy, 
occupy  the  ground  which  Calvinism  occupied  in  the  last 
age,  and  compose  the  visible  church  of  the  existing  gen 
eration.  The  present  age  will  be  marked  by  its  harvest 
of  projects  for  the  reform  of  domestic,  civil,  literary,  and 
ecclesiastical  institutions.  The  leaders  of  the  crusades 
against  War,  Negro  slavery,  Intemperance,  Government 
based  on  force,  Usages  of  trade,  Court  and  Custom-house 
Oaths,  and  so  on  to  the  agitators  on  the  system  of  Edu 
cation  and  the  laws  of  Property,  are  the  right  successors 
of  Luther,  Knox,  Robinson,  Fox,  Penn,  Wesley,  and 
Whitefield.  They  have  the  same  virtue  and  vices ;  the 
same  noble  impulse,  and  the  same  bigotry.  These  move- 


LECTURE    ON    THE    TIMES.  219 

ments  are  on  all  accounts  important ;  they  not  only 
check  the  special  abuses,  but  they  educate  the  conscience 
and  the  intellect  of  the  people.  How  can  such  a  ques 
tion  as  the  Slave-trade  be  agitated  for  forty  years  by  all 
the  Christian  nations,  without  throwing  great  light  on 
ethics  into  the  general  mind  ?  The  fury,  with  which  the 
slave-trader  defends  every  inch  of  his  bloody  deck,  and 
his  howling  auction-platform,  is  a  trumpet  to  alarm  the 
ear  of  mankind,  to  wake  the  dull,  and  drive  all  neutrals 
to  take  sides,  and  to  listen  to  the  argument  and  the  ver 
dict.  The  Temperance  question,  which  rides  the  conver 
sation  of  ten  thousand  circles,  and  is  tacitly  recalled  at 
every  public  and  at  every  private  table,  drawing  with  it 
all  the  curious  ethics  of  the  Pledge,  of  the  Wine-question, 
of  the  equity  of  the  manufacture  and  the  trade,  is  a  gym 
nastic  training  to  the  casuistry  and  conscience  of  the  time. 
Anti-masonry  had  a  deep  right  and  wrong,  which  gradu 
ally  emerged  to  sight  out  of  the  turbid  controversy.  The 
political  questions  touching  the  Banks ;  the  Tariff;  the 
limits  of  the  executive  power ;  the  right  of  the  constitu 
ent  to  instruct  the  representative  ;  the  treatment  of  the 
Indians ;  the  Boundary  wars ;  the  Congress  of  nations  ; 
are  all  pregnant  with  ethical  conclusions  ;  and  it  is  well 
if  government  and  our  social  order  can  extricate  them 
selves  from  these  alembics,  and  find  themselves  still  gov 
ernment  and  social  order.  The  student  of  history  will 
hereafter  compute  the  singular  value  of  our  endless  dis 
cussion  of  questions,  to  the  mind  of  the  period. 

Whilst  each  of  these  aspirations  and  attempts  of  the 
people  for  the  Better  is  magnified  by  the  natural  ex 
aggeration  of  its  advocates,  until  it  excludes  the  others 


220  LECTURE    ON    THE    TIMES. 

rom  sight,  and  repels  discreet  persons  by  the  unfairness 
of  the  plea,  the  movements  are  in  reality  all  parts  of  one 
movement.  There  is  a  perfect  chain  —  see  it,  or  see  it 
not  —  of  reforms  emerging  from  the  surrounding  dark 
ness,  each  cherishing  some  part  of  the  general  idea,  and 
all  must  be  seen,  in  order  to  do  justice  to  any  one.  Seen 
in  this  their  natural  connection,  they  are  sublime.  The 
conscience  of  the  Age  demonstrates  itself  in  this  effort 
to  raise  the  life  of  man  by  putting  it  in  harmony  with 
his  idea  of  the  Beautiful  and  the  Just.  The  history  of 
reform  is  always  identical ;  it  is  the  comparison  of  the 
idea  with  the  fact.  Our  modes  of  living  are  not  agree 
able  to  our  imagination.  We  suspect  they  are  un 
worthy.  We  arraign  our  daily  employments.  They 
appear  to  us  unfit,  unworthy  of  the  faculties  we  spend 
on  them.  In  conversation  with  a  wise  man,  we  find 
ourselves  apologizing  for  our  employments;  we  speak 
of  them  with  shame.  Nature,  literature,  science,  child 
hood,  appear  to  us  beautiful;  but  not  our  own  daily 
work,  not  the  ripe  fruit  and  considered  labors  of  man. 
This  beauty  which  the  fancy  finds  in  everything  else, 
certainly  accuses  that  manner  of  life  we  lead.  Why 
should  it  be  hateful  ?  Why  should  it  contrast  thus  witii 
all  natural  beauty  ?  Why  should  it  not  be  poetic,  and 
invite  and  raise  us  ?  Is  there  a  necessity  that  the  works 
jof  man  should  be  sordid?  Perhaps  not.  Out  of  this 
c/fair  Idea  in  the  mind  springs  the  effort  at  the  Perfect. 
It  is  the  interior  testimony  to  a  fairer  possibility  of  life 
and  manners,  which  agitates  society  every  day  with  the 
offer  of  some  new  amendment.  If  we  would  make  more 
strict  inquiry  concerning  its  origin,  we  find  ourselves 


LECTURE  ON  THE  TIMES.      221 

rapidly  approaching  the  inner  boundaries  of  thought, 
that  term  where  speech  becomes  silence,  and  science 
conscience.  For  the  origin  of  all  reform  is  in  that  mys 
terious  fountain  of  the  moral  sentiment  in  man,  which 
amidst  the  natural,  ever  contains  the  supernatural  for 
men.  That  is  new  and  creative.  That  is  alive.  That 
alone  can  make  a  man  other  than  he  is.  Here  or  no 
where  resides  unbounded  energy,  unbounded  power. 

The  new  voices  in  the  wilderness  crying  "Repent," 
have  revived  a  hope,  which  had  wellnigh  perished  out  of 
the  world,  that  the  thoughts  of  the  mind  may  yet,  in 
some  distant  age,  in  some  happy  hour,  be  executed  by 
the  hands.  That  is  the  hope,  of  which  all  other  hopes 
are  parts.  For  some  ages  these  ideas  have  been  con 
signed  to  the  poet  and  musical  composer,  to  the  prayers 
and  the  sermons  of  churches ;  but  the  thought,  that  they 
can  ever  have  any  footing  in  real  life,  seems  long  since 
to  have  been  exploded  by  all  judicious  persons.  Milton, 
in  his  best  tract,  describes  a  relation  between  religion 
and  the  daily  occupations,  which  is  true  until  this  time. 

"A  wealthy  man,  addicted  to  his  pleasure  and  to  his 
profits,  finds  religion  to  be  a  traffic  so  entangled,  and  of 
so  many  piddling  accounts,  that  of  all  mysteries  he  can 
not  skill  to  keep  a  stock  going  upon  that  trade.  What 
should  he  doj>  Fain  he  would  have  the  name  to  be 
religious  ;  fain  he  would  bear  up  with  his  neighbors  in 
that.  What  does  he,  therefore,  but  resolve  to  give  over 
toiling,  and  to  find  himself  out  some  factor,  to  whose 
care  and  credit  he  may  commit  the  whole  managing  of 
his  religious  affairs  ;  some  divine  of  note  and  estimation 
that  must  be.  To  him  he  adheres,  resigns  the  whole 


222  LECTURE    ON    THE'  TIMES. 

warehouse  of  his  religion,  with  all  the  locks  and  keys, 
into  his  custody ;  and  indeed  makes  the  very  person  of 
that  man  his  religion ;  esteems  his  associating  with  him 
a  sufficient  evidence  and  commendatory  of  his  own  piety. 
So  that  a  man  may  say,  his  religion  is  now  no  more 
within  himself,  but  is  become  a  dividual  movable,  and 
goes  and  comes  near  him,  according  as  that  good  man 
frequents  the  house.  He  entertains  him,  gives  him 
gifts,  feasts  him,  lodges  him ;  his  religion  comes  home 
at  night,  prays,  is  liberally  supped,  and  sumptuously 
laid  to  sleep,  rises,  is  saluted,  and  after  the  malmsey,  or 
some  well-spiced  beverage,  and  better  breakfasted  than 
he  whose  morning  appetite  would  have  gladly  fed  on 
green  figs  between  Bethany  and  Jerusalem,  his  religion 
walks  abroad  at  eight,  and  leaves  his  kind  entertainer  in 
the  shop,  trading  all  day  without  his  religion." 

This  picture  would  serve  for  our  times.  Religion  was 
not  invited  to  eat  or  drink  or  sleep  with  us,  or  to  make 
or  divide  an  estate,  but  was  a  holiday  guest.  Such 
omissions  judge  the  church;  as  the  compromise  made 
with  the  slaveholder,  not  much  noticed  at  first,  every 
day  appears  more  flagrant  mischief  to  the  American  con 
stitution.  But  now  the  purists  are  looking  into  all  these 
matters.  The  more  intelligent  are  growing  uneasy  on 
the  subject  of  Marriage.  They  wish  to  see  the  charac 
ter  represented  also  in  that  covenant.  There  shall  be 
nothing  brutal  in  it,  but  it  shall  honor  the  man  and  the 
woman  as  much  as  the  most  diffusive  and  universal 
action.  Grimly  the  same  spirit  looks  into  the  law  of 
Property,  and  accuses  men  of  driving  a  trade  in  the 
great  boundless  providence  which  had  given  the  air,  the 


LECTURE  ON  THE  TIMES.      223 

water,  and  the  land  to  men,  to  use  and  not  to  fence  in 
and  monopolize.  It  casts  its  eyes  on  Trade,  and  Day 
Labor,  and  so  it  goes  up  and  down,  paving  the  earth 
with  eyes,  destroying  privacy,  and  making  thorough 
lights.  Is  all  this  for  nothing  ?  Do  you  suppose  that 
the  reforms,  which  are  preparing,  will  be  as  superficial 
as  those  we  know  ? 

By  the  books  it  reads  and  translates,  judge  what  books 
it  will  presently  print.  A  great  deal  of  the  profoundest 
thinking  of  antiquity,  which  had  become  as  good  as  obso 
lete  for  us,  is  now  reappearing  in  extracts  and  allusions, 
and  in  twenty  years  will  get  all  printed  anew.  See  how 
daring  is  the  reading,  the  speculation,  the  experimenting 
of  the  time.  If  now  some  genius  shall  arise  who  could 
unite  these  scattered  rays  !  And  always  such  a  genius 
does  embody  the  ideas  of  each  time.  Here  is  great 
variety  and  richness  of  mysticism,  each  part  of  which  now 
only  disgusts,  whilst  it  forms  the  sole  thought  of  some 
poor  Perfectionist  or  "Comer  out,"  yet,  when  it  shall 
be  taken  up  as  the  garniture  of  some  profound  and  all- 
reconciling  thinker,  will  appear  the  rich  and  appropriate 
decoration  of  his  robes. 

These  reforms  are  our  contemporaries ;  they  are  our 
selves  ;  our  own  light,  and  sight,  and  conscience ;  they 
only  name  the  relation  which  subsists  between  us  and 
the  vicious  institutions  which  they  go  to  rectify.  They 
are  the  simplest  statements  of  man  in  these  matters ;  the 
plain  right  and  wrong.  I  cannot  choose  but  allow  and 
honor  them.  The  impulse  is  good,  and  the  theory  ;  the 
practice  is  less  beautiful.  The  Reformers  affirm  the 
inward  life,  but  they  do  not  trust  it,  but  use  outward 


224  LECTURE    ON    THE    TIMES. 

and  vulgar  means.  They  do  not  rely  on  precisely  that 
strength  which  wins  me  to  their  cause ;  not  on  love,  not 
on  a  principle,  but  on  men,  on  multitudes,  on  circum 
stances,  on  money,  on  party ;  that  is,  on  fear,  on  wrath, 
and  pride.  The  love  which  lifted  men  to  the  sight  of 
these  better  ends,  was  the  true  and  best  distinction  of 
/  this  time,  the  disposition  to  trust  a  principle  more  than  a 
material  force.  I  think  that  the  soul  of  reform  ;  the  con 
viction,  that  not  sensualism,  not  slavery,  not  war,  not 
imprisonment,  not  even  government,  are  needed,  —  but, 
in  lieu  of  them  all,  reliance  on  the  sentiment  of  man, 
which  will  work  best  the  more  it  is  trusted ;  not  reliance 
on  numbers,  but,  contrariwise,  distrust  of  numbers,  and 
the  feeling  that  then  are  we  strongest,  when  most  private 
and  alone.  The  young  men,  who  have  been  vexing 
society  for  these  last  years  with  regenerative  methods, 
seem  to  have  made  this  mistake;  they  all  exaggerated 
some  special  means,  and  all  failed  to  see  that  the  Reform 

*    of  Reforms  must  be  accomplished  without  means. 

The  Reforms  have  their  high  origin  in  an  ideal  justice, 
but  they  do  not  retain  the  purity  of  an  idea.  They  are 
quickly  organized  in  some  low,  inadequate  form,  and 
present  no  more  poetic  image  to  the  mind,  than  the  evil 
tradition  which  they  reprobated.  They  mix  the  fire  of 
the  moral  sentiment  with  personal  and  party  heats,  witli 
measureless  exaggerations,  and  the  blindness  that  prefers 

/  some  darling  measure  to  justice  and  truth.  Those  who 
are  urging  with  most  ardor  what  are  called  the  greatest 
benefits  of  mankind,  are  narrow,  self-pleasing,  conceited 
men,  and  affect  us  as  the  insane  do.  They  bite  us,  and 
we  run  mad  also.  I  think  the  work  of  the  reformer  as 


LECTURE    ON    THE    TIMES.  225 

innocent  as  other  work  that  is  done  around  him ;  but 
when  I  have  seen  it  near,  I  do  not  like  it  better.  It  is 
done  in  the  same  way,  it  is  done  profanely,  not  piously ; 
by  management,  by  tactics,  and  clamor.  It  is  a  buzz  in 
the  ear.  I  cannot  feel  any  pleasure  in  sacrifices  which 
display  to  me  such  partiality  of  character.  We  do  not 
want  actions,  but  men  ;  not  a  chemical  drop  of  water, 
but  rain;  the  spirit  that  sheds  and  showers  actions, 
countless,  endless  actions.  You  have  on  some  occasion 
played  a  bold  part.  You  have  set  your  heart  and  face 
against  society,  when  you  thought  it  wrong,  and  returned 
it  frown  for  frown.  Excellent :  now  can  you  afford  to 
forget  it,  reckoning  all  your  action  no  more  than  the 
passing  of  your  hand  through  the  air,  or  a  little  breath 
of  your  mouth  ?  The  world  leaves  no  track  in  space,  and 
the  greatest  action  of  man  no  mark  in  the  vast  idea.  To 
the  youth  diffident  of  his  ability,  and  full  of  compunction 
at  his  unprofitable  existence,  the  temptation  is  always  ^ 
great  to  lend  himself  to  public  movements,  and  as  one  of 
a  party  accomplish  what  he  cannot  hope  to  effect  alone. 
But  he  must  resist  the  degradation  of  a  man  to  a  meas 
ure.  I  must  act  with  truth,  though  I  should  never  come 
to  act,  as  you  call  it,  with  effect.  I  must  consent  to  in 
action.  A  patience  which  is  grand  ;  a  brave  and  cold 
neglect  of  the  offices  which  prudence  exacts,  so  it  be 
done  in  a  deep  piety  ;  a  consent  to  solitude  and  inaction, 
which  proceeds  out  of  an  unwillingness  to  violate  char 
acter,  is  the  century  which  makes  the  gem.  Whilst 
therefore  I  desire  to  express  the  respect  and  joy  I  feel 
before  this  sublime  connection  of  reforms,  now  in  their 
infancy  around  us,  I  urge  the  more  earnestly  the  para- 
10*  o 


226  LECTURE     ON     THE     TIMES. 

/  mount  duties  of  self-reliance.  I  cannot  find  language  of 
J  sufficient  energy  to  convey  my  sense  of  the  sacredness 
of  private  integrity.  All  men,  all  things,  the  state,  the 
church,  yea,  the  friends  of  the  heart,  are  phantasms  and 
unreal  beside  the  sanctuary  of  the  heart.  With  so  much 
awe,  with  so  much  fear,  let  it  be  respected. 

The  great  majority  of  men,  unable  to  judge  of  any 
principle  until  its  light  falls  on  a  fact,  are  not  aware  of 
the  evil  that  is  around  them,  until  they  see  it  in  some 
gross  form,  as  in  a  class  of  intemperate  men,  or  slave 
holders,  or  soldiers,  or  fraudulent  persons.  Then  they 
are  greatly  moved;  and  magnifying  the  importance  of 
that  wrong,  they  fancy  that  if  that  abuse  were  redressed, 
all  would  go  well,  and  they  fill  the  land  with  clamor  to 
correct  it.  Hence  the  missionary  and  other  religious 
efforts.  If  every  island  and  every  house  had  a  Bible,  if 
every  child  was  brought  into  the  Sunday  school,  would 
the  wounds  of  the  world  heal,  and  man  be  upright  ? 
/  But  the  man  of  ideas,  accounting  the  circumstance 
nothing,  judges  of  the  commonwealth  from  the  state  of 
his  own  mind.  'If,'  he  says,  'I  am  selfish,  then  is 
there  slavery,  or  the  effort  to  establish  it,  wherever  I  go. 
But  if  I  am  just,  then  is  there  no  slavery,  let  the  laws 
say  what  they  will.  For  if  I  treat  all  men  as  gods,  how 
to  me  can  there  be  any  such  thing  as  a  slave?'  But 
how  frivolous  is  your  war  against  circumstances.  This 
denouncing  philanthropist  is  himself  a  slaveholder  in 
every  word  and  look.  Does  he  free  me  ?  Does  he 
cheer  me?  He  is  the  State  of  Georgia,  or  Alabama, 
with  their  sanguinary  slave-laws  walking  here  on  our 
Northeastern  shores.  We  are  all  thankful  he  has  no 


LECTURE    ON    THE    TIMES.  227 

more  political  power,  as  we  are  fond  of  liberty  ourselves. 
I  am  afraid  our  virtue  is  a  little  geographical.  I  am 
not  mortified  by  our  vice ;  that  is  obduracy ;  it  colors  and 
palters,  it  curses  and  swears,  and  I  can  see  to  the  end  of 
it ;  but,  I  own,  our  virtue  makes  me  ashamed ;  so  sour 
and  narrow,  so  thin  and  blind,  virtue  so  vice-like.  Then 
again,  how  trivial  seem  the  contests  of  the  abolitionists, 
whilst  he  aims  merely  at  the  circumstance  of  the  slave. 
Give  the  slave  the  least  elevation  of  religious  sentiment,  • 
and  he  is  no  slave  :  you  are  the  slave :  he  not  only  in  his 
humility  feels  his  superiority,  feels  that  much-deplored 
condition  of  his  to  be  a  fading  trifle,  but  he  makes  you 
feel  it  too.  He  is  the  master.  The  exaggeration,  which 
our  young  people  make  of  his  wrongs,  characterizes 
themselves.  What  are  no  trifles  to  them,  they  naturally 
think  are  no  trifles  to  Pompey. 

We  say,  then,  that  the  reforming  movement  is  sacred 
in  its  origin;  in  its  management  and  details  timid  and 
profane.  These  benefactors  hope  to  raise  man  by  improv 
ing  his  circumstances  :  by  combination  of  that  which  is 
dead,  they  hope  to  make  something  alive.  In  vain.  By 
new  infusions  alone  of  the  spirit  by  which  he  is  made 
and  directed  can  he  be  re-made  and  reinforced.  The  sad 
Pestalozzi,  who  shared  with  all  ardent  spirits  the  hope  of 
Europe  on  the  outbreak  of  the  French  Revolution,  after 
witnessing  its  sequel,  recorded  his  conviction,  that  "  the 
amelioration  of  outward  circumstances  will  be  the  effect, 
but  can  never  be  the  means  of  mental  and  moral  improve 
ment."  Quitting  now  the  class  of  actors,  let  us  turn  to 
see  how  it  stands  with  the  other  class  of  which  we  spoke, 
namely,  the  students. 


228  LECTURE    ON    THE    TIMES. 

A  new  disease  has  fallen  on  the  life  of  man.  Every 
Age,  like  every  human  body,  has  its  own  distemper. 
Other  times  have  had  war,  or  famine,  or  a  barbarism 
domestic  or  bordering,  as  their  antagonism.  Our  fore 
fathers  walked  in  the  world  and  went  to  their  graves, 
tormented  with  the  fear  of  Sin,  and  the  terror  of  the 
Day  of  Judgment.  These  terrors  have  lost  their  force, 
and  our  torment  is  Unbelief,  the  Uncertainty  as  to  what 
we  ought  to  do ;  the  distrust  of  the  value  of  what  we 
do,  and  the  distrust  that  the  Necessity  (which  we  all 
at  last  believe  in)  is  fair  and  beneficent.  Our  Religion 
assumes  the  negative  form  of  rejection.  Out  of  love  of 
the  true,  we  repudiate  the  false :  and  the  Religion  is  an 
abolishing  criticism.  A  great  perplexity  hangs  like  a 
cloud  on  the  brow  of  all  cultivated  persons,  a  certain 
imbecility  in  the  best  spirits,  which  distinguishes  the 
period.  We  do  not  find  the  same  trait  in  the  Arabian, 
in  the  Hebrew,  in  Greek,  Roman,  Norman,  English 
periods ;  no,  but  in  other  men  a  natural  firmness.  The 
men  did  not  see  beyond  the  need  of  the  hour.  They 
planted  their  foot  strong,  and  doubted  nothing.  We  mis 
trust  every  step  we  take.  We  find  it  the  worst  thing 
about  time,  that  we  know  not  what  to  do  with  it.  We 
are  so  sharp-sighted  that  we  can  neither  work  nor  think, 
neither  read  Plato  nor  not  read  him. 

Then  there  is  what  is  called  a  too  intellectual  ten 
dency.  Can  there  be  too  much  intellect?  We  have 
never  met  with  any  such  excess.  But  the  criticism, 
which  is  levelled  at  the  laws  and  manners,  ends  in 
thought,  without  causing  a  new  method  of  life.  The 
genius  of  the  day  does  not  decline  to  a  deed,  but  to 


LECTURE  ON  THE  TIMES.     229 

a  beholding.  It  is  not  that  men  do  not  wish  to  act ; 
they  pine  to  be  employed,  but  are  paralyzed  by  the  un 
certainty  what  they  should  do.  The  inadequacy  of  the 
work  to  the  faculties  is  the  painful  perception  which 
keeps  them  still.  This  happens  to  the  best.  Then, 
talents  bring  their  usual  temptations,  and  the  current 
literature  and  poetry  with  perverse  ingenuity  draw  us 
away  from  life  to  solitude  and  meditation.  This  could 
well  be  borne,  if  it  were  great  and  involuntary;  if 
the  men  were  ravished  by  their  thought,  and  hurried 
into  ascetic  extravagances.  Society  could  then  manage 
to  release  their  shoulder  from  its  wheel,  and  grant  them 
for  a  time  this  privilege  of  sabbath.  But  they  are  not 
so.  Thinking,  which  was  a  rage,  is  become  an  art.  The 
thinker  gives  me  results,  and  never  invites  me  to  be 
present  with  him  at  his  invocation  of  truth,  and  to  enjoy 
with  him  its  proceeding  into  his  mind. 

So  little  action  amidst  such  audacious  and  yet  sincere 
profession,  that  we  begin  to  doubt  if  that  great  revolu 
tion  in  the  art  of  war,  which  has  made  it  a  game  of 
posts  instead  of  a  game  of  battles,  has  not  operated  on 
Reform ;  whether  this  be  not  also  a  war  of  posts,  a  paper 
blockade,  in  which  each  party  is  to  display  the  utmost 
resources  of  his  spirit  and  belief,  and  no  conflict  occur ; 
but  the  world  shall  take  that  course  which  the  demonstra 
tion  of  the  truth  shall  indicate. 

But  we  must  pay  for  being  too  intellectual,  as  they 
call  it.  People  are  not  as  light-hearted  for  it.  I  think 
men  never  loved  life  less.  I  question  if  care  and  doubt 
ever  wrote  their  names  so  legibly  on  the  faces  of  any 
population.  This  Ennui,  for  which  we  Saxons  had  no 


230  LECTURE     ON     THE     TIMES. 

name,  this  word  of  France  has  got  a  terrific  significance. 
It  shortens  life,  and  bereaves  the  day  of  its  light.  Old 
age  begins  in  the  nursery,  and  before  the  young  American 
is  put  into  jacket  and  trousers,  he  says,  '  I  want  some- 
/thing  which  I  never  saw  before  ' ;  and  '  I  wish  I  was 

"  not  I.'  I  have  seen  the  same  gloom  on  the  brow  even 
of  those  adventurers  from  the  intellectual  class,  who  have 
dived  deepest  and  with  most  success  into  active  life.  I 
have  seen  the  authentic  sign  of  anxiety  and  perplexity  on 
the  greatest  forehead  of  the  state.  The  canker-worms 
have  crawled  to  the  topmost  bough  of  the  wild  elm,  and 
swing  down  from  that.  Is  there  less  oxygen  in  the  at 
mosphere  ?  What  has  checked  in  this  age  the  animal 
spirits  which  gave  to  our  forefathers  their  bounding 
pulse  ? 

But  have  a  little  patience  with  this  melancholy  humor. 
Their  unbelief  arises  out  of  a  greater  Belief;  their  in 
action  out  of  a  scorn  of  inadequate  action.  By  the  side 
of  these  men,  the  hot  agitators  have  a  certain  cheap  and 
ridiculous  air ;  they  even  look  smaller  than  the  others. 
/6f  the  two,  I  own,  I  like  the  'speculators  best.  They 

*  have  some  piety  which  looks  with  faith  to  a  fair  Future, 
unprofaned  by  rash  and  unequal  attempts  to  realize  it. 
And  truly  we  shall  find  much  to  console  us,  when  we 
consider  the  cause  of  their  uneasiness.  It  is  the  love  of 
greatness,  it  is  the  need  of  harmony,  the  contrast  of  the 
dwarfish  Actual  with  the  exorbitant  Idea.  No  man  can 
compare  the  ideas  and  aspirations  of  the  innovators  of  the 
present  day,  with  those  of  former  periods,  without  feel 
ing  how  great  and  high  this  criticism  is.  The  revolu 
tions  that  impend  over  society  are  not  now  from  ambi- 


LECTURE     ON   'THE     TIMES.  231 

tion  and  rapacity,  from  impatience  of  one  or  another 
form  of  government,  but  from  new  modes  of  thinking, 
which  shall  recompose  society  after  a  new  order,  which 
shall  animate  labor  by  love  and  science,  which  shall  de 
stroy  the  value  of  many  kinds  of  property,  and  replace 
all  property  within  the  dominion  of  reason  and  equity. 
There  was  never  so  great  a  thought  laboring  in  the 
breasts  of  men,  as  now.  It  almost  seems  as  if  what  was 
aforetime  spoken  fabulously  and  hieroglyphically,  was 
now  spoken  plainly,  the  doctrine,  namely,  of  the  indwell 
ing  of  the  Creator  in  man.  The  spiritualist  wishes  this 
only,  that  the  spiritual  principle  should  be  suffered  to 
demonstrate  itself  to  the  end,  in  all  possible  applications 
to  the  state  of  man,  without  the  admission  of  anything 
unspiritual,  that  is,  anything  positive,  dogmatic,  or  per 
sonal.  The  excellence  of  this  class  consists  in  this,  that 
they  have  believed ;  that,  affirming  the  need  of  new  and  4its 
higher  modes  of  living  and  action,  they  have  abstained 
from  the  recommendation  of  low  methods.  Their  fault 
is  that  they  have  stopped  at  the  intellectual  perception ; 
that  their  will  is  not  yet  inspired  from  the  Fountain  of 
Love.  But  whose  fault  is  this  ?  and  what  a  fault,  and 
to  what  inquiry  does  it  lead !  We  have  come  to  that 
which  is  the  spring  of  all  power,  of  beauty  and  virtue,  of 
art  and  poetry ;  and  who  shall  tell  us  according  to  what 
law  its  inspirations  and  its  informations  are  given  or 
withholden  ? 

I  do  not  wish  to  be  guilty  of  the  narrowness  and  ped 
antry  of  inferring  the  tendency  and  genius  of  the  Age 
from  a  few  and  insufficient  facts  or  persons.  Every  age 
has  a  thousand  sides  and  signs  and  tendencies ;  and  it  is 


232  LECTURE     ON     THE     TIMES. 

only  when  surveyed  from  inferior  points  of  view,  that 
great  varieties  of  character  appear.  Our  time  too  is  full 
of  activity  and  performance.  Is  there  not  something 
comprehensive  in  the  grasp  of  a  society  which  to  great 
mechanical  invention,  and  the  best  institutions  of  prop 
erty,  adds  the  most  daring  theories  ;  which  explores  the 
subtlest  and  most  universal  problems  ?  At  the  manifest 
risk  of  repeating  what  every  other  Age  has  thought  of 
itself,  we  might  say,  we  think  the  Genius  of  this  Age 
more  philosophical  than  any  other  has  been,  righter  in 
its  aims,  truer,  with  less  fear,  less  fable,  less  mixture  of 
any  sort. 

But  turn  it  how  we  will,  as  we  ponder  this  meaning 
of  the  times,  every  new  thought  drives  us  to  the  deep 
fact,  that  the  Time  is  the  child  of  the  Eternity.  The 
main  interest  which  any  aspects  of  the  Times  can  have 
for  us,  is  the  great  spirit  which  gazes  through  them,  the 
light  which  they  can  shed  on  the  wonderful  questions, 
What  we  are  ?  and  Whither  we  tend  ?  We  do  not  wish 
to  be  deceived.  Here  we  drift,  like  white  sail  across  the 
wild  ocean,  now  bright  on  the  wave,  now  darkling  in 
the  trough  of  the  sea ;  but  from  what  port  did  we  sail  ? 
Who  knows  ?  Or  to  what  port  are  we  bound  ?  Who 
knows  ?  There  is  no  one  to  tell  us  but  such  poor 
weather-tossed  mariners  as  ourselves,  whom  we  speak  as 
we  pass,  or  who  have  hoisted  some  signal,  or  floated  to 
us  some  letter  in  a  bottle  from  far.  But  what  know  they 
more  than  we?  They  also  found  themselves  on  this 
wondrous  sea.  No ;  from  the  older  sailors,  nothing. 
Over  all  their  speaking-trumpets,  the  gray  sea  and  the 
loud  winds  answer,  Not  in  us ;  not  in  Time.  Where 


LECTURE     ON     THE     TIMES. 

then  but  in  Ourselves,  where  but  in  that  Thought  through 
which  we  communicate  with  absolute  nature,  and  are 
made  aware  that  whilst  we  shed  the  dust  of  which  we  are 
built,  grain  by  grain,  till  it  is  all  gone,  the  law  which 
clothes  us  with  humanity  remains  new  ?  where,  but  in  ihe 
intuitions  which  are  vouchsafed  us  from  within,  shall  we 
learn  the  Truth  ?  Faithless,  faithless,  we  fancy  that  with 
the  dust  we  depart  and  are  not ;  and  do  not  know  that 
the  law  and  the  perception  of  the  law  are  at  last  one ; 
that  only  as  much  as  the  law  enters  us,  becomes  us,  we 
are  living  men,  —  immortal  with  the  immortality  of  this 
law.  Underneath  all  these  appearances  lies  that  which 
is,  that  which  lives,  that  which  causes.  This  ever-renew 
ing  generation  of  appearances  rests  on  a  reality,  and  a 
reality  that  is  alive. 

To  a  true  scholar  the  attraction  of  the  aspects  of  na 
ture,  the  departments  of  life,  and  the  passages  of  his  ex 
perience,  is  simply  the  information  they  yield  him  of 
this  supreme  nature  which  lurks  within  all.  That  reality, 
that  causing  force,  is  moral.  The  Moral  Sentiment  is 
but  its  other  name.  It  makes  by  its  presence  or  absence 
right  and  wrong,  beauty  and  ugliness,  genius  or  depriva 
tion.  As  the  granite  comes  to  the  surface,  and  towers 
into  the  highest  mountains,  and,  if  we  dig  down,  we  find 
it  below  the  superficial  strata,  so  in  all  the  details  of  our 
domestic  or  civil  life  is  hidden  the  elemental  reality,  which 
ever  and  anon  comes  to  the  surface,  and  forms  the  grand 
men,  who  are  the  leaders  and  examples,  rather  than  the 
companions  of  the  race.  The  granite  is  curiously  con 
cealed  under  a  thousand  formations  and  surfaces,  under 
fertile  soils,  and  grasses,  and  flowers,  under  well-ma- 


234     LECTURE  ON  THE  TIMES. 

nured,  arable  fields,  and  large  towns  and  cities,  but  it 
makes  the  foundation  of  these,  and  is  always  indicating 
its  presence  by  slight  but  sure  signs.  So  is  it  with  the 
Life  of  our  life  ;  so  close  does  that  also  hide.  I  read  it 
in  glad  and  in  weeping  eyes  ;  I  read  it  in  the  pride  and 
in  the  humility  of  people ;  it  is  recognized  in  every  bar 
gain  and  in  every  complaisance,  in  every  criticism,  and 
in  all  praise;  it  is  voted  for  at  elections ;  it  wins  the  cause 
with  juries ;  it  rides  the  stormy  eloquence  of  the  senate, 
sole  victor ;  histories  are  written  of  it,  holidays  decreed 
to  it;  statues,  tombs,  churches,  built  to  its  honor;  yet 
men  seem  to  fear  and  to  shun  it,  when  it  comes  barely  to 
view  in  our  immediate  neighborhood. 

For  that  reality  let  us  stand  :  that  let  us  serve,  and  for 
that  speak.  Only  as  far  as  that  shines  through  them, 
are  these  times  or  any  times  worth  consideration.  I 
wish  to  speak  of  the  politics,  education,  business,  and 
religion  around  us,  without  ceremony  or  false  deference. 
You  will  'absolve  me  from  the  charge  of  flippancy,  or  ma 
lignity,  or  the  desire  to  say  smart  things  at  the  expense 
of  whomsoever,  when  you  see  that  reality  is  all  we  prize, 
and  that  we  are  bound  on  our  entrance  into  nature  to 
speak  for  that.  Let  it  not  be  recorded  in  our  own  mem 
ories,  that  in  this  moment  of  the  Eternity,  when  we  who 
were  named  by  our  names  flitted  across  the  light,  we 
were  afraid  of  any  fact,  or  disgraced  the  fair  Day  by  a 
pusillanimous  preference  of  our  bread  to  our  freedom. 
What  is  the  scholar,  what  is  the  man  for  but  for  hospi 
tality  to  every  new  thought  of  his  time  ?  Have  you 
leisure,  power,  property,  friends  ?  you  shall  be  the 
asylum  and  patron  of  every  new  thought,  every  unproven 


LECTURE    ON    THE    TIMES.  235 

opinion,  every  untried  project,  which  proceeds  out  of 
good-will  and  honest  seeking.  All  the  newspapers,  all 
the  tongues  of  to-day  will  of  course  at  first  defame  what 
is  noble;  but  you  who  hold  not  of  to-day,  not  of  the 
times,  but  of  the  Everlasting,  are  to  stand  for  it ;  and 
the  highest  compliment  man  ever  receives  from  Heaven, 
is  the  sending  to  him  its  disguised  and  discredited  an, 
gels. 


THE    CONSERVATIVE. 


A  LECTURE  DELIVERED  AT  THE  MASONIC  TEMPLE,  BOSTON, 
DECEMBER  9,  1841. 


THE   CONSERVATIVE. 


THE  two  parties  which  divide  the  state,  the  party  of 
Conservatism  and  that  of  Innovation,  are  very  old,  and 
have  disputed  the  possession  of  the  world  ever  since  it 
was  made.  This  quarrel  is  the  subject  of  civil  history. 
The  conservative  party  established  the  reverend  hierar 
chies  and  monarchies  of  the  most  ancient  world.  The  bat 
tle  of  patrician  and  plebeian,  of  parent  state  and  colony, 
of  old  usage  and  accommodation  to  new  facts,  of  the  rich 
and  the  poor,  reappears  in  all  countries  and  times.  The 
war  rages  not  only  in  battle-fields,  in  national  councils, 
and  ecclesiastical  synods,  but  agitates  every  man's  bosom 
with  opposing  advantages  every  hour.  On  rolls  the  old 
world  meantime,  and  now  one,  now  the  other  gets  the 
day,  and  still  the  fight  renews  itself  as  if  for  the  first 
time,  under  new  names  and  hot  personalities. 

Such  an  irreconcilable  antagonism,  of  course,  must 
have  a  correspondent  depth  of  seat  in  the  human  consti 
tution.  It  is  the  opposition  of  Past  and  Future,  of 
Memory  and  Hope,  of  the  Understanding  and  the  "Rea 
son.  It  is  the  primal  antagonism,  the  appearance  in  tri 
fles  of  the  two  poles  of  nature. 

There  is  a  fragment  of  old  fable  which  seems  somehow 
to  have  been. dropped  from  the  current  mythologies, 


240  THE    CONSERVATIVE. 

which  may  deserve  attention,  as  it  appears  to  relate  to 
this  subject. 

Saturn  grew  weary  of  sitting  alone,  or  with  none  but 
the  great  Uranus  or  Heaven  beholding  him,  and  he  cre 
ated  an  oyster.  Then  he  would  act  again,  but  he  made 
nothing  more,  but  went  on  creating  the  race  of  oysters. 
Then  Uranus  cried,  '  A  new  work,  O  Saturn  !  the  old  is 
not  good  again.' 

Saturn  replied  :  '  I  fear.  There  is  not  only  the  alter 
native  of  making  and  not  making,  but  also  of  unmaking. 
Seest  thou  the  great  sea,  how  it  ebbs  and  flows  ?  so  is  it 
with  me  ;  my  power  ebbs ;  and  if  I  put  forth  my  hands, 
I  shall  not  do,  but  undo.  Therefore  I  do  what  I  have 
done ;  I  hold  what  I  have  got ;  and  so  I  resist  Night 
and  Chaos.' 

'  0  Saturn,'  replied  Uranus,  '  thou  canst  not  hold  thine 
own,  but  by  making  more.  Thy  oysters  are  barnacles 
and  cockles,  and  with  the  next  flowing  of  the  tide  they 
will  be  pebbles  and  sea-foam.' 

fl  see,'  rejoins  Saturn,  'thou  art  in  league  with 
Night,  thou  art  become  an  evil  eye ;  thou  spakest  from 
love ;  now  thy  words  smite  me  with  hatred.  I  appeal 
to  Fate,  must  there  not  be  rest  ? '  —  '  I  appeal  to  Fate 
also,'  said  Uranus,  '  must  there  not  be  motion  ? '  — 
But  Saturn  was  silent,  and  went  on  making  oysters  for  a 
thousand  years. 

After  that,  the  word  of  Uranus  came  into  his  mind 
like  a  ray  of  the  sun,  and  he  made  Jupiter ;  and  then  he 
feared  again ;  and  nature  froze,  the  things  that  were 
made  went  backward,  and,  to  save  the  world,  Jupiter 
slew  his  father  Saturn. 


THE     CONSERVATIVE.  241 

This  may  stand  for  the  earliest  account  of  a  conversa 
tion  on  politics  between  a  Conservative  and  a  Radical, 
which  has  come  down  to  us.  It  is  ever  thus.  It  is  the 
counteraction  of  the  centripetal  and  the  centrifugal  for 
ces.  Innovation  is  the  salient  energy :  Conservatism  the 
pause  on  the  last  movement.  'That  which  is  was  made 
by  God,'  saith  Conservatism.  'He  is  leaving  that,  he 
is  entering  this  other,'  rejoins  Innovation. 

There  is  always  a  certain  meanness  in  the  argument  of 
conservatism,  joined  with  a  certain  superiority  in  its  fact. 
It  affirms  because  it  holds.  Its  fingers  clutch  the  fact, 
and  it  will  not  open  its  eyes  to  see  a  better  fact.  The 
castle,  which  conservatism  is  set  to  defend,  is  the  actual 
state  of  tilings,  good  and  bad.  The  project  of  innovation 
is  the  best  possible  state  of  things.  Of  course,  conserva 
tism  always  has  the  worst  of  the  argument,  is  always 
apologizing,  pleading  a  necessity,  pleading  that  to  change 
would  be  to  deteriorate ;  it  must  saddle  itself  with  the 
mountainous  load  of  the  violence  and  vice  of  society, 
must  deny  the  possibility  of  good,  deny  ideas,  and  sus 
pect  and  stone  the  prophet ;  whilst  innovation  is  always 
in  the  right,  triumphant,  attacking,  and  sure  of  final  suc 
cess.  Conservatism  stands  on  man's  confessed  limita 
tions  ;  reform,  on  his  indisputable  infinitude ;  conserva 
tism,  on  circumstance;  liberalism,  on  power;  one  goes  to 
make  an  adroit  member  of  the  social  frame ;  the  other  to 
postpone  all  things  to  the  man  himself;  conservatism  is 
debonair  and  social ;  reform  is  individual  and  imperious. 
We  are  reformers  in  spring  and  summer ;  in  autumn  and 
winter  we  stand  by  the  old ;  reformers  in  the  morning, 
conservers  at  night.  Reform  is  affirmative,  conservatism 
11  p 


242  THE    CONSERVATIVE. 

negative ;  conservatism  goes  for  comfort,  reform  for 
truth.  Conservatism  is  more  candid  to  behold  another's 
worth  ;  reform  more  disposed  to  maintain  and  increase 
its  own.  Conservatism  makes  no  poetry,  breathes  no 
prayer,  has  no  invention ;  it  is  all  memory.  Reform 
has  no  gratitude,  no  prudence,  no  husbandry.  It  makes 
a  great  difference  to  your  figure  and  to  your  thought, 
whether  your  foot  is  advancing  or  receding.  Conserva 
tism  never  puts  the  foot  forward ;  in  the  hour  when  it 
does  that,  it  is  not  establishment,  but  reform.  Conserva 
tism  tends  to  universal  seeming  and  treachery,  believes 
in  a  negative  fate;  believes  that  men's  temper  governs 
them  ;  that  for  me,  it  avails  not  to  trust  in  principles  ; 
they  will  fail  me ;  I  must  bend  a  little ;  it  distrusts  na 
ture  ;  it  thinks  there  is  a  general  law  without  a  particu 
lar  application,  —  law  for  all  that  does  not  include  any 
one.  Reform  in  its  antagonism  inclines  to  asinine  resist 
ance,  to  kick  with  hoofs  ;  it  runs  to  egotism  and  bloated 
self-conceit ;  it  runs  to  a  bodiless  pretension,  to  unnat 
ural  refining  and  elevation,  which  ends  in  hypocrisy  and 
sensual  reaction. 

And  so  whilst  we  do  not  go  beyond  general  statements, 
it  may  be  safely  affirmed  of  these  two  metaphysical  antag 
onists,  that  each  is  a  good  half,  but  an  impossible  whole. 
Each  exposes  the  abuses  of  the  other,  but  in  a  true  so 
ciety,  in  a  true  man,  both  must  combine.  Nature  does 
not  give  the  crown  of  its  approbation,  namely,  beauty,  to 
any  action  or  emblem  or  actor,  but  to  one  which  com 
bines  both  these  elements  ;  not  to  the  rock  which  resists 
the  waves  from  age  to  age,  nor  to  the  wave  which  lashes 
incessantly  the  rock,  but  the  superior  beauty  is  with  the 


THE     CONSERVATIVE.  243 

oak  which  stands  with  its  hundred  arms  against  the 
storms  of  a  century,  and  grows  every  year  like  a  sapling  ; 
or  the  river  which  ever  flowing,  yet  is  found  in  the  same 
bed  from  age  to  age ;  or,  greatest  of  all,  the  man  who  has 
subsisted  for  years  amid  the  changes  of  nature,  yet  has 
distanced  himself,  so  that  when  you  remember  what  he 
was,  and  see  what  he  is,  you  say,  what  strides  !  what  a 
disparity  is  here  ! 

Throughout  nature  the  past  combines  in  every  creature 
with  the  present.  Each  of  the  convolutions  of  the  sea- 
shell,  each  node  and  spine  marks  one  year  of  the  fish's 
life  ;  what  was  the  mouth  of  the  shell  for  one  season,  with 
the  addition  of  new  matter  by  the  growth  of  the  animal, 
becoming  an  ornamental  node.  The  leaves  and  a  shell  of 
soft  wood  are  all  that  the  vegetation  of  this  summer  has 
made,  but  the  solid  columnar  stem  which  lifts  that  bank 
of  foliage  into  the  air  to  draw  the  eye  and  to  cool  us  with 
its  shade,  is  the  gift  and  legacy  of  dead  and  buried  years. 

In  nature,  each  of  these  elements  being  always  pres 
ent,  each  theory  has  a  natural  support.  As  we  take  our 
stand  on  Necessity,  or  on  Ethics,  shall  we  go  for  the  con 
servative,  or  for  the  reformer.  If  we  read  the  world  his 
torically,  we  shall  say,  Of  all  the  ages,  the  present  hour 
and  circumstance  is  the  cumulative  result;  this  is  the 
best  throw  of  the  dice  of  nature  that  has  yet  been,  or  that 
is  yet  possible.  If  we  see  it  from  the  side  of  Will,  or  the 
Moral  Sentiment,  we  shall  accuse  the  Past  and  the  Pres 
ent,  and  require  the  impossible  of  the  Future. 

But  although  this  bifold  fact  lies  thus  united  in  real 
nature,  and  so  united  that  no  man  can  continue  to  exist 
in  whom  both  these  elements  do  not  work,  yet  men  are 


244  THE     CONSERVATIVE. 

not  philosophers,  but  are  rather  very  foolish  children, 
who,  by  reason  of  their  partiality,  see  everything  in  the 
most  absurd  manner,  and  are  the  victims  at  all  times  of 
the  nearest  object.  There  is  even  no  philosopher  who  is 
a  philosopher  at  all  times.  Our  experience,  our  percep 
tion,  is  conditioned  by  the  need  to  acquire  in  parts  and  in 
succession,  that  is,  with  every  truth  a  certain  falsehood. 
As  this  is  the  invariable  method  of  our  training,  we  must 
give  it  allowance,  and  suffer  men  to  learn  as  they  have 
done  for  six  millenniums,  a  word  at  a  time,  to  pair  off  into 
insane  parties,  and  learn  the  amount  of  truth  each  knows, 
by  the  denial  of  an  equal  amount  of  truth.  For  the  pres 
ent,  then,  to  come  at  what  sum  is  attainable  to  us,  we 
must  even  hear  the  parties  plead  as  parties. 

That  which  is  best  about  conservatism,  that  which, 
though  it  cannot  be  expressed  in  detail,  inspires  rever 
ence  in  all,  is  the  Inevitable.  There  is  the  question  not 
only,  what  the  conservative  says  for  himself  ?  but,  why 
must  he  say  it  ?  What  insurmountable  fact  binds  him  to 
that  side  ?  Here  is  the  fact  which  men  call  Fate,  and 
fate  in  dread  degrees,  fate  behind  fate,  not  to  be  disposed 
of  by  the  consideration  that  the  Conscience  commands 
this  or  that,  but  necessitating  the  question,  whether  the 
faculties  of  man  will  play  him  true  in  resisting  the  fact? 
of  universal  experience  ?  For  although  the  commands 
of  the  Conscience  are  essentially  absolute,  they  are  histor 
ically  limitary.  Wisdom  does  not  seek  a  literal  recti 
tude,  but  an  useful,  that  is,  a  conditioned  one,  such  a  one 
as  the  faculties  of  man  and  the  constitution  of  things  will 
warrant.  The  reformer,  the  partisan,  loses  himself  in 
driving  to  the  utmost  some  specialty  9f  right  conduct, 


THE     CONSERVATIVE.  245 

until  his  own  nature  and  all  nature  resist  him  ;  but  Wis 
dom  attempts  nothing  enormous  and  disproportioned  to 
its  powers,  nothing  which  it  cannot  perform  or  nearly 
perform.  We  have  all  a  certain  intellection  or  presenti 
ment  of  reform  existing  in  the  mind,  which  does  not  yet 
descend  into  the  character,  and  those  who  throw  them 
selves  blindly  on  this  lose  themselves.  Whatever  they 
attempt  in  that  direction,  fails  and  reacts  suicidally  on  the 
actor  himself.  This  is  the  penalty  of  having  transcended 
nature.  Tor  the  existing  world  is  not  a  dream,  and  can 
not  with  impunity  be  treated  as  a  dream  ;  neither  is  it  a 
disease ;  but  it  is  the  ground  on  which  you  stand,  it  is 
the  mother  of  whom  you  were  born.  Reform  converses 
with  possibilities,  perchance  with  impossibilities  ;  but  here 
is  sacred  fact.  This  also  was  true,  or  it  could  not  be  :  it 
had  life  in  it,  or  it  could  not  have  existed  :  it  has  life  in 
it,'or  it  could  not  continue.  Your  schemes  may  be  feasi 
ble,  or  may  not  be,  but  this  has  the  indorsement  of  nature 
and  a  long  friendship  and  cohabitation  with  the  powers  of 
nature.  This  will  stand  until  a  better  cast  of  the  dice  is 
made.  The  contest  between  the  Future  and  the  Past  is 
one  between  Divinity  entering,  and  Divinity  departing. 
You  are  welcome  to  try  your  experiments,  and,  if  you 
can,  to  displace  the  actual  order  by  that  ideal  republic 
you  announce,  for  nothing  but  God  will  expel  God.  But 
plainly  the  burden  of  proof  must  lie  with  the  projector. 
We  hold  to  this  until  you  can  demonstrate  something 
better. 

The  system  of  property  and  law  goes  back  for  its  origin 
to  barbarous  and  sacred  times  ;  it  is  the  fruit  of  the 
same  mysterious  cause  as  the  mineral  or  animal  world. 


246  THE    CONSERVATIVE. 

There  is  a  natural  sentiment  and  prepossession  in  favor 
of  age,  of  ancestors,  of  barbarous  and  aboriginal  usages, 
which  is  a  homage  to  the  element  of  necessity  and  divin 
ity  which  is  in  them.  The  respect  for  the  old  names 
of  places,  of  mountains  and  streams,  is  universal.  The 
Indian  and  barbarous  name  can  never  be  supplanted 
without  loss.  The  ancients  tell  us  that  the  gods  loved 
the  Ethiopians  for  their  stable  customs ;  and  the  Egyp 
tians  and  Chaldeans,  whose  origin  could  not  be  explored, 
passed  among  the  junior  tribes  of  Greece  and  Italy  for 
sacred  nations. 

Moreover,  so  deep  is  the  foundation  of  the  existing 
social  system,  that  it  leaves  no  one  out  of  it.  We  may 
be  partial,  but  Fate  is  not.  All  men  have  their  root  in 
it.  You  who  quarrel  with  the  arrangements  of  society, 
and  are  willing  to  embroil  all,  and  risk  the  indisputable 
good  that  exists,  for  the  chance  of  better,  live,  move, 
and  have  your  being  in  this,  and  your  deeds  contradict 
your  words  every  day.  For  as  you  cannot  jump  from 
the  ground  without  using  the  resistance  of  the  ground, 
nor  put  out  the  boat  to  sea,  without  shoving  from  the 
shore,  nor  attain  liberty  without  rejecting  obligation,  so 
you  are  under  the  necessity  of  using  the  Actual  order  of 
things,  in  order  to  disuse  it ;  to  live  by  it,  whilst  you 
wish  to  take  away  its  life.  The  past  has  baked  your 
loaf,  and  in  the  strength  of  its  bread  you  would  break  up 
the  oven.  But  you  are  betrayed  by  your  own  nature. 
You  also  are  conservatives.  However  men  please  to 
style  themselves,  I  see  no  other  than  a  conservative 
party.  You  are  not  only  identical  with  us  in  your  needs, 
but  also  in  your  methods  and  aims.  You  quarrel  with  my 


THE     CONSERVATIVE.  247 

conservatism,  but  it  is  to  build  up  one  of  your  own ;  it 
will  have  a  new  beginning,  but  the  same  course  and  end, 
the  same  trials,  the  same  passions  ;  among  the  lovers  of 
the  new  I  observe  that  there  is  a  jealousy  of  the  newest, 
and  that  the  seceder  from  the  seceder  is  as  damnable  as 
the  pope  himself. 

On  these  and  the  like  grounds  of  general  statement, 
conservatism  plants  itself  without  danger  of  being  dis 
placed.  Especially  before  this  personal  appeal,  the  inno 
vator  must  confess  his  weakness,  must  confess  that  no 
man  is  to  be  found  good  enough  to  be  entitled  to  stand 
champion  for  the  principle.  But  when  this  great  ten 
dency  comes  to  practical  encounters,  and  is  challenged 
by  young  men,  to  whom  it  is  no  abstraction,  but  a  fact 
of  hunger,  distress,  and  exclusion  from  opportunities, 
it  must  needs  seem  injurious.  The  youth,  of  course,  is 
an  innovator  by  the  fact  of  his  birth.  There  he  stands, 
newly  born  on  the  planet,  a  universal  beggar,  with  all 
the  reason  of  things,  one  would  say,  on  his  side.  In 
his  first  consideration  how  to  feed,  clothe,  and  warm 
himself,  he  is  met  by  warnings  on  every  hand,  that  this 
thing  and  that  thing  have  owners,  and  he  must  go  else 
where.  Then  he  says :  '  If  I  am  born  into  the  earth, 
where  is  my  part  ?  have  the  goodness,  gentlemen  of  this 
world,  to  show  me  my  wood-lot,  where  I  may  fell  my 
wood,  my  field  where  to  plant  my  corn,  my  pleasant 
ground  where  to  build  my  cabin.' 

'  Touch  any  wood,  or  field,  or  house-lot,  on  your  peril,' 
cry  all  the  gentlemen  of  this  world ;  '  but  you  may  come 
and  work  in  ours,  for  us,  and  we  will  give  you  a  piece 
of  bread.' 


248  THE     CONSERVATIVE. 

'And  what  is  that  peril?' 

'Knives  and  muskets,  if  we  meet  you  in  the  act ;  im 
prisonment,  if  we  find  you  afterward.' 

'And  by  what  authority,  kind  gentlemen  ?  ' 

'  By  our  law.' 

'  And  your  law,  —  is  it  just  ?  ' 

'As  just  for  you  as  it  was  for  us.  We  wrought  for 
others  under  this  law,  and  got  our  lands  so.' 

'  I  repeat  the  question,  Is  your  law  just  ?' 

'Not  quite  just,  but  necessary.  Moreover,  it  is  juster 
now  than  it  was  when  we  were  born ;  we  have  made  it 
milder  and  more  equal.' 

'  I  will  none  of  your  law,'  returns  the  youth ;  '  it  en 
cumbers  me.  I  cannot  understand,  or  so  much  as  spare 
time  to  read  that  needless  library  of  your  laws.  Nature 
has  sufficiently  provided  me  with  rewards  and  sharp  pen 
alties,  to  bind  me  not  to  transgress.  Like  the  Persian 
noble  of  old,  I  ask  "that  I  may  neither  command  nor 
obey."  I  do  not  wish  to  enter  into  your  complex  social 
system.  I  shall  serve  those  whom  I  can,  and  they  who 
can  will  serve  me.  I  shall  seek  those  whom  I  love,  and 
shun  those  whom  I  love  not,  and  what  more  can  all  your 
laws  render  me  ? ' 

With  equal  earnestness  and  good  faith,  replies  to  this 
plaintiff  an  upholder  of  the  establishment,  a  man  of  many 
virtues  :  — 

'  Your  opposition  is  feather-brained  and  over-fine. 
Young  man,  I  have  no  skill  to  talk  with  you,  but  look  at 
me  :  I  have  risen  early  and  sat  late,  and  toiled  honestly 
and  painfully  for  very  many  years.  I  never  dreamed 
about  methods ;  I  laid  rny  bones  to,  and  drudged  for  the 


THE    CONSERVATIVE.  249 

good  I  possess ;  it  was  not  got  by  fraud,  nor  by  luck, 
but  by  work,  and  you  must  show  me  a  warrant  like  these 
stubborn  facts  in  your  own  fidelity  and  labor,  before  I 
suffer  you,  on  the  faith  of  a  few  fine  words,  to  ride  into 
my  estate,  and  claim  to  scatter  it  as  your  own.' 

*  Now  you  touch  the  heart  of  the  matter,'  replies  the 
reformer.  '  To  that  fidelity  and  labor,  I  pay  homage.  I 
am  unworthy  to  arraign  your  manner  of  living,  until  I  too 
have  been  tried.  But  I  should  be  more  unworthy,  if  I 
did  not  tell  you  why  I  cannot  walk  in  your  steps.  I  find 
this  vast  network,  which  you  call  property,  extended 
over  the  whole  planet.  I  cannot  occupy  the  bleakest 
crag  of  the  White  Hills  or  the  Alleghany  Range,  but 
some  man  or  corporation  steps  up  to  me  to  show  me  that 
it  is  his.  Now,  though  I  am  very  peaceable,  and  on  my 
private  account  could  well  enough  die,  since  it  appears 
there  was  some  mistake  in  my  creation,  and  that  I  have 
been  missent  to  this  earth,  where  all  the  seats  were  al 
ready  taken,  —  yet  I  feel  called  upon  in  behalf  of  rational 
nature,  which  I  represent,  to  declare  to  you  my  opinion, 
that,  if  the  Earth  is  yours,  so  also  is  it  mine.  All  your 
aggregate  existences  are  less  to  me  a  fact  than  is  my 
own ;  as  I  am  born  to  the  earth,  so  the  Earth  is  given  to 
me,  what  I  want  of  it  to  till  and  to  plant ;  nor  could  I, 
without  pusillanimity,  omit  to  claim  so  much.  I  must 
not  only  have  a  name  to  live,  I  must  live.  My  genius 
leads  me  to  build  a  different  manner  of  life  from  any  of 
yours.  I  cannot  then  spare  you  the  whole  world.  I 
love  you  better.  I  must  tell  you  the  truth  practically ; 
and  take  that  which  you  call  yours.  It  is  God's  world 
and  mine ;  yours  as  munh  as  you  want,  mine  as  much  as 
11* 


250  THE     CONSERVATIVE. 

I  want.  Besides,  I  know  your  ways ;  I  know  the  symp 
toms  of  the  disease.  To  the  end  of  your  power,  you  will 
serve  this  lie  which  cheats  you.  Your  want  is  a  gulf 
which  the  possession  of  the  broad  earth  would  not  fill. 
Yonder  sun  in  heaven  you  would  pluck  down  from  shin 
ing  on  the  universe,  and  make  him  a  property  and  pri 
vacy,  if  you  could ;  and  the  moon  and  the  north  star  you 
would  quickly  have  occasion  for  in  your  closet  and  bed 
chamber.  What  you  do  not  want  for  use,  you  crave  for 
ornament,  and  what  your  convenience  could  spare,  your 
pride  cannot.' 

On  the  other  hand,  precisely  the  defence  which  was 
set  up  for  the  British  Constitution,  namely,  that  with  all 
its  admitted  defects,  rotten  boroughs  and  monopolies,  it 
worked  well,  and  substantial  justice  was  somehow  done ; 
the  wisdom  and  the  worth  did  get  into  parliament,  and 
every  interest  did  by  right,  or  might,  or  sleight,  get  rep 
resented;  the  same  defence  is  set  up  for  the  existing 
institutions.  They  are  not  the  best ;  they  are  not  just ; 
and  in  respect  to  you,  personally,  0  brave  young  man ! 
they  cannot  be  justified.  They  have,  it  is  most  true,  left 
you  no  acre  for  your  own,  and  no  law  but  our  law,  to  the 
ordaining  of  which,  you  were  no  party.  But  they  do  an 
swer  the  end,  they  are  really  friendly  to  the  good ;  un 
friendly  to  the  bad ;  they  second  the  industrious,  and  the 
kind;  they  foster  genius.  They  really  have  so  much 
flexibility  as  to  afford  your  talent  and  character,  on  the 
whole,  the  same  chance  of  demonstration  and  success 
which  they  might  have,  if  there  was  no  law  and  no  prop 
erty. 

It  is  trivial  and  merely  superstitious  to  say  that  noth- 


THE     CONSERVATIVE.  251 

ing  is  given  you,  no  outfit,  no  exhibition ;  for  in  this  in 
stitution  of  credit,  which  is  as  universal  as  honesty  and 
promise  in  the  human  countenance,  always  some  neighbor 
stands  ready  to  be  bread  and  land  and  tools  and  stock  to 
the  young  adventurer.  And  if  in  any  one  respect  they 
have  come  short,  see  what  ample  retribution  of  good  they 
have  made.  They  have  lost  no  time  and  spared  no 
expense  to  collect  libraries,  museums,  galleries,  colleges, 
palaces,  hospitals,  observatories,  cities.  The  ages  have 
not  been  idle,  nor  kings  slack,  nor  the  rich  niggardly. 
Have  we  not  atoned  for  this  small  offence  (which  we 
could  not  help)  of  leaving  you  no  right  in  the  soil,  by 
this  splendid  indemnity  of  ancestral  and  national  wealth  ? 
Would  you  have  been  born  like  a  gypsy  in  a  hedge,  and 
preferred  your  freedom  on  a  heath,  and  the  range  of  a 
planet  which  had  no  shed  or  boscage  to  cover  yon  from 
sun  and  wind,  —  to  this  towered  and  citied  world?  to 
this  world  of  Rome,  and  Memphis,  and  Constantinople, 
and  Vienna,  and  Paris,  and  London,  and  New  York  ? 
For  thee  Naples,  Florence,  and  Venice,  for  thee  the  fair 
Mediterranean,  the  sunny  Adriatic  ;  for  thee  both  Indies 
smile;  for  thee  the  hospitable  North  opens  its  heated 
palaces  under  the  polar  circle  ;  for  thee  roads  have  been 
cut  in  every  direction  across  the  land,  and  fleets  of  float- 
Ing  palaces  with  every  security  for  strength,  and  provision 
for  luxury,  swim  by  sail  and  by  steam  through  all  the 
waters  of  this  world.  Every  island  for  thee  has  a  town  ; 
every  town  a  hotel.  Though  thou  wast  born  landless, 
yet  to  thy  industry  and  thrift  and  small  condescension  to 
the  established  usage,  —  scores  of  servants  are  swarm 
ing  in  every  strange  place  with  cap  and  knee  to  thy 


252  THE     CONSERVATIVE. 

command,  scores,  nay  hundreds  and  thousands,  for  thy 
wardrobe,  thy  table,  thy  chamber,  thy  library,  thy  leisure ; 
and  every  whim  is  anticipated  and  served  by  the  best 
ability  of  the  whole  population  of  each  country.  The 
king  on  the  throne  governs  for  thee,  and  the  judge 
judges;  the  barrister  pleads,  the  farmer  tills,  the  joiner 
hammers,  the  postman  rides.  Is  it  not  exaggerating  a 
trifle  to  insist  on  a  formal  acknowledgment  of  your 
claims,  when  these  substantial  advantages  have  been 
secured  to  you  ?  Now  can  your  children  be  educated, 
your  labor  turned  to  their  advantage,  and  its  fruits  se 
cured  to  them  after  your  death.  It  is  frivolous  to  say, 
you  have  no  acre,  because  you  have  not  a  mathematically 
measured  piece  of  land.  Providence  takes  care  that  you 
shall  have  a  place,  that  you  are  waited  for,  and  come  ac 
credited  ;  and,  as  soon  as  you  put  your  gift  to  use,  you 
shall  have  acre  or  acre's  worth  according  to  your  exhibi 
tion  of  desert,  —  acre,  if  you  need  land  ;  acre's  worth,  if 
you  prefer  to  draw,  or  carve,  or  make  shoes,  or  wheels, 
to  the  tilling  of  the  soil. 

Besides,  it  might  temper  your  indignation  at  the  sup 
posed  wrong  which  society  has  done  you,  to  keep  the 
question  before  you,  how  society  got  into  this  predica 
ment  ?  Who  put  things  on  this  false  basis  ?  No  single 
man,  but  all  men.  No  man  voluntarily  and  knowingly ; 
but  it  is  the  result  of  that  degree  of  culture  there  is  in 
the  planet.  The  order  of  things  is  as  good  as  the  char 
acter  of  the  population  permits.  Consider  it  as  the 
work  of  a  great  and  beneficent  and  progressive  necessity, 
which,  from  the  first  pulsation  in  the  first  animal  life, 
up  to  the  present  high  culture  of  the  best  nations,  has 


THE     CONSERVATIVE.  253 

advanced  thus  far.  Thank  the  rude  foster-mother  though 
she  has  taught  you  a  better  wisdom  than  her  own,  and 
has  set  hopes  in  your  heart  which  shall  be  history  in  the 
next  ages.  You  are  yourself  the  result  of  this  manner 
of  living,  this  foul  compromise,  this  vituperated  Sodom. 
It  nourished  you  with  care  and  love  on  its  breast  as  it 
had  nourished  many  a  lover  of  the  right,  and  many  a 
poet,  and  prophet,  and  teacher  of  men.  Is  it  so  irreme 
diably  bad  ?  Then  again,  if  the  mitigations  are  con 
sidered,  do  not  all  the  mischiefs  virtually  vanish  ?  The 
form  is  bad,  but  see  you  not  how  every  personal  char 
acter  reacts  on  the  form,  and  makes  it  new  ?  A  strong 
person  makes  the  law  and  custom  null  before  his  own 
will.  Then  the  principle  of  love  and  truth  reappears  in 
the  strictest  courts  of  fashion  and  property.  Under  the 
richest  robes,  in  the  darlings  of  the  selectest  circles  of 
European  or  American  aristocracy,  the  strong  heart  will 
beat  with  love  of  mankind,  with  impatience  of  accidental 
distinctions,  with  the  desire  to  achieve  its  own  fate,  and 
make  every  ornament  it  wears  authentic  and  real. 

Moreover,  as  we  have  already  shown  that  there  is  no 
pure  reformer,  so  it  is  to  be  considered  that  there  is  no 
pure  conservative,  no  man  who  from  the  beginning  to 
the  end  of  his  life  maintains  the  defective  institutions ; 
but  he  who  sets  his  face  like  a  flint  against  every  novelty, 
when  approached  in  the  confidence  of  conversation,  in 
the  presence  of  friendly  and  generous  persons,  has  also 
his  gracious  and  relenting  moments,  and  espouses  for  the 
time  the  cause  of  man  ;  and  even  if  this  be  a  short-lived 
emotion,  yet  the  remembrance  of  it  in  private  hours 
mitigates  his  selfishness  and  compliance  with  custom. 


254  THE    CONSERVATIVE. 

The  Friar  Bernard  lamented  in  his  cell  on  Mount 
Cenis  the  crimes  of  mankind,  and  rising  one  morning 
before  day  from  his  bed  of  moss  and  dry  leaves,  he 
gnawed  his  roots  and  berries,  drank  of  the  spring,  and 
set  forth  to  go  to  Rome  to  reform  the  corruption  of 
mankind.  On  his  way  he  encountered  many  travellers 
who  greeted  him  courteously ;  and  the  cabins  of  the 
peasants  and  the  castles  of  the  lords  supplied  his  few 
wants.  When  he  came  at  last  to  Rome,  his  piety  and 
good-will  easily  introduced  him  to  many  families  of  the 
rich,  and  on  the  first  day  he  saw  and  talked  with  gentle 
mothers  with  their  babes  at  their  breasts,  who  told  him 
how  much  love  they  bore  their  children,  and  how  they 
were  perplexed  in  their  daily  walk  lest  they  should  fail 
in  their  duty  to  them.  'What! '  he  said,  '  and  this  on 
rich  embroidered  carpets,  on  marble  floors,  with  cunning 
sculpture,  and  carved  wood,  and  rich  pictures,  and  piles 
of  books  about  you  ?  '  — '  Look  at  our  pictures  and 
books,'  they  said,  '  and  we  will  tell  you,  good  Father, 
how  we  spent  the  last  evening.  These  are  stories  of 
godly  children  and  holy  families  and  romantic  sacrifices 
made  in  old  or  in  recent  times  by  great  and  not  mean 
persons ;  and  last  evening,  our  family  was  collected,  and 
our  husbands  and  brothers  discoursed  sadly  on  what  we 
could  save  and  give  in  the  hard  times.'  Then  came  in 
the  men,  and  they  said,  '  What  cheer,  brother  ?  Does  thy 
convent  want  gifts  ? '  Then  the  Friar  Bernard  went 
home  swiftly  with  other  thoughts  than  he  brought,  say 
ing,  'This  way  of  life  is  wrong,  yet  these  Romans, 
whom  I  prayed  God  to  destroy,  are  lovers,  they  are 
lovers  ;  what  can  I  do  ? ' 


THE    CONSERVATIVE.  255 

The  reformer  concedes  that  these  mitigations  exist, 
and  that,  if  he  proposed  comfort,  he  should  take  sides 
with  the  establishment.  Your  words  are  excellent,  but 
they  do  not  tell  the  whole.  Conservatism  is  affluent  and 
open-handed,  but  there  is  a  cunning  juggle  in  riches.  I 
observe  that  they  take  somewhat  for  everything  they 
give.  I  look  bigger,  but  am  less ;  I  have  more  clothes, 
but  am  not  so  warm ;  more  armor,  but  less  courage  ; 
more  books,  but  less  wit.  What  you  say  of  your 
planted,  builded,  and  decorated  world  is  true  enough, 
and  I  gladly  avail  myself  of  its  convenience  ;  yet  I  have 
remarked  that  what  holds  in  particular,  holds  in  general, 
that  the  plant  Man  does  not  require  for  his  most  glorious 
flowering  this  pomp  of  preparation  and  convenience,  but 
the  thoughts  of  some  beggarly  Homer  who  strolled,  God 
knows  when,  in  the  infancy  and  barbarism  of  the  old 
world ;  the  gravity  and  sense  of  some  slave  Moses  who 
leads  away  his  fellow-slaves  from  their  masters ;  the  con 
templation  of  some  Scythian  Anacharsis  ;  the  erect,  for 
midable  valor  of  some  Dorian  townsmen  in  the  town  of 
Sparta ;  the  vigor  of  Clovis  the  Prank,  and  Alfred  the 
Saxon,  and  Alaric  the  Goth,  and  Mahomet,  Ali,  and 
Omar  the  Arabians,  Saladin  the  Kurd,  and  Othrnan  the 
Turk,  sufficed  to  build  what  you  call  society,  on  the  spot 
and  in  the  instant  when  the  sound  mind  in  a  sound  body 
appeared.  Rich  and  fine  is  your  dress,  0  conservatism  ! 
your  horses  are  of  the  best  blood ;  your  roads  are  well 
cut  and  well  paved ;  your  pantry  is  full  of  meats  and 
your  cellar  of  wines,  and  a  very  good  state  and  condition 
are  you  for  gentlemen  and  ladies  to  live  under;  but 
every  one  of  these  goods  steals  away  a  drop  of  my  blood. 


256  THE     CONSERVATIVE. 

I  want  the  necessity  of  supplying  my  own  wants.  All 
this  costly  culture  of  yours  is  not  necessary.  Greatness 
does  not  need  it.  Yonder  peasant,  who  sits  neglected 
there  in  a  corner,  carries  a  whole  revolution  of  man  and 
nature  in  his  head,  which  shall  be  a  sacred  history  to 
some  future  ages.  For  man  is  the  end  of  nature  ;  noth 
ing  so  easily  organizes  itself  in  every  part  of  the  universe 
as  he :  no  moss,  no  lichen,  is  so  easily  born  ;  and  he 
takes  along  with  him  and  puts  out  from  himself  the  whole 
apparatus  of  society  and  condition  extempore,,  as  an  army 
encamps  in  a  desert,  and  where  all  was  just  now  blowing 
sand,  creates  a  white  city  in  an  hour,  a  government,  a  mar 
ket,  a  place  for  feasting,  for  conversation,  and  for  love. 

These  considerations,  urged  by  those  whose  characters 
and  whose  fortunes  are  yet  to  be  formed,  must  needs 
command  the  sympathy  of  all  reasonable  persons.  But 
beside  that  charity  which  should  make  all  adult  persons 
interested  for  the  youth,  and  engage  them  to  see  that  he 
has  a  free  field  and  fair  play  on  his  entrance  into  life,  we 
are  bound  to  see  that  the  society,  of  which  we  compose 
a  part,  does  not  permit  the  formation  or  continuance  of 
views  and  practices  injurious  to  the  honor  and  welfare 
of  mankind.  The  objection  to  conservatism,  when  em 
bodied  in  a  party,  is,  that  in  its  love  of  acts,  it  hates 
principles ;  it  lives  in  the  senses,  not  in  truth  ;  it  sacri 
fices  to  despair ;  it  goes  for  availableness  in  its  candi 
date,  not  for  worth  ;  and  for  expediency  in  its  measures, 
and  not  for  the  right.  Under  pretence  of  allowing  for 
friction,  it  makes  so  many  additions  and  supplements  to 
the  machine  of  society,  that  it  will  play  smoothly  and 
softly,  but  will  no  longer  grind  any  grist. 


THE    CONSERVATIVE.  257 

The  conservative  party  in  the  universe  concedes  that 
the  radical  would  talk  sufficiently  to  the  purpose,  if  we 
were  still  in  the  garden  of  Eden ;  he  legislates  for  man 
as  he  ought  to  be ;  his  theory  is  right,  but  he  makes 
no  allowance  for  friction ;  and  this  omission  makes  his 
whole  doctrine  false.  The  idealist  retorts,  that  the  con 
servative  falls  into  a  far  more  noxious  error  in  the  other 
extreme.  The  conservative  assumes  sickness  as  a  neces 
sity,  and  his  social  frame  is  a  hospital,  his  total  legisla 
tion  is  for  the  present  distress,  a  universe  in  slippers  and 
flannels,  with  bib  and  pap-spoon,  swallowing  pills  and 
herb-tea.  Sickness  gets  organized  as  well  as  health,  the 
vice  as  well  as  the  virtue.  Now  that  a  vicious  system  of 
trade  has  existed  so  long,  it  has  stereotyped  itself  in  the 
human  generation,  and  misers  are  born.  And  now  that 
sickness  has  got  such  a  foothold,  leprosy  has  grown 
cunning,  has  got  into  the  ballot-box ;  the  lepers  outvote 
the  clean;  society  has  resolved  itself  into  a  Hospital 
Committee,  and  all  its  laws  are  quarantine.  If  any  man 
resist,  and  set  up  a  foolish  hope  he  has  entertained  as 
good  against  the  general  despair,  society  frowns  on  him, 
shuts  him  out  of  her  opportunities,  her  granaries,  her  re 
fectories,  her  water  and  bread,  and  will  serve  him  a  sex 
ton's  turn.  Conservatism  takes  as  low  a  view  of  every 
part  of  human  action  and  passion.  Its  religion  is  just 
as  bad ;  a  lozenge  for  the  sick  ;  a  dolorous  tune  to  be 
guile  the  distemper ;  mitigations  of  pain  by  pillows  and 
anodynes  ;  always  mitigations,  never  remedies ;  pardons 
for  sin,  funeral  honors,  —  never  self-help,  renovation,  and 
virtue.  Its  social  and  political  action  has  no  better  aim  ; 
to  keep  out  wind  and  weather,  to  bring  the  week  and 

Q 


258  THE    CONSERVATIVE. 

year  about,  and  make  the  world  last  our  day ;  not  to  sit 
on  the  world  and  steer  it ;  not  to  sink  the  memory  of  the 
pasjt  in  the  glory  of  a  new  and  more  excellent  creation ; 
a  timid  cobbler  and  patcher,  it  degrades  whatever  it 
touches.  The  cause  of  education  is  urged  in  this  coun 
try  with  the  utmost  earnestness,  —  on  what  ground  ? 
why  on  this,  that  the  people  have  the  power,  and  if  they 
are  not  instructed  to  sympathize  with  the  intelligent, 
reading,  trading,  and  governing  class,  inspired  with  a 
taste  for  the  same  competitions  and  prizes,  they  will 
upset  the  fair  pageant  of  Judicature,  and  perhaps  lay  a 
hand  on  the  sacred  muniments  of  wealth  itself,  and  new 
distribute  the  land.  Religion  is  taught  in  the  same 
spirit.  The  contractors  who  were  building  a  road  out  of 
Baltimore,  some  years  ago,  found  the  Irish  laborers 
quarrelsome  and  refractory,  to  a  degree  that  embarrassed 
the  agents,  and  seriously  interrupted  the  progress  of  the 
work.  The  corporation  were  advised  to  call  off  the 
police,  and  build  a  Catholic  chapel,  which  they  did;  the 
priest  presently  restored  order,  and  the  work  went  on 
prosperously.  Such  hints,  to  be  sure,  are  too  valuable 
to  be  lost.  If  you  do  not  value  the  Sabbath,  or  other 
religious  institutions,  give  yourself  no  concern  about 
maintaining  them.  They  have  already  acquired  a  mar 
ket  value  as  conservators  of  property ;  and  if  priest  and 
church-member  should  fail,  the  chambers  of  commerce 
and  the  presidents  of  the  banks,  the  very  innholders  and 
landlords  of  the  county,  would  muster  with  fury  to  their 
support. 

Of  course,  religion  in  such  hands  loses  its  essence. 
Instead  of  that  reliance,  which  the  soul  suggests  on  the 


THE     CONSERVATIVE.  259 

eternity  of  truth  and  duty,  men  are  misled  into  a  reliance 
on  institutions,  which,  the  moment  they  cease  to  be  the 
instantaneous  creations  of  the  devout  sentiment,  are 
worthless.  Religion  among  the  low  becomes  low.  As 
it  loses  its  truth,  it  loses  credit  with  the  sagacious. 
They  detect  the  falsehood  of  the  preaching,  but  when 
they  say  so,  all  good  citizens  cry,  Hush ;  do  not  weaken 
the  state,  do  not  take  off  the  strait-jacket  from  dan 
gerous  persons.  Every  honest  fellow  must  keep  up 
the  hoax  the  best  he  can ;  must  patronize  providence 
and  piety,  and  wherever  he  sees  anything  that  will 
keep  men  amused,  schools  or  churches  or  poetry,  or 
picture-galleries  or  music,  or  what  not,  he  must  cry, 
"  Hist-a-boy,"  and  urge  the  game  on.  What  a  compli 
ment  we  pay  to  the  good  SPIRIT  with  our  superservice- 
able  zeal ! 

But  not  to  balance  reasons  for  and  against  the  estab 
lishment  any  longer,  and  if  it  still  be  asked  in  this  neces 
sity  of  partial  organization,  which  party  on  the  whole  has 
the  highest  claims  on  our  sympathy  ?  I  bring  it  home 
to  the  private  heart,  where  all  such  questions  must  have 
their  final  arbitrament.  How  will  every  strong  and  gen 
erous  mind  choose  its  ground,  —  with  the  defenders  of 
the  old  ?  or  with  the  seekers  of  the  new  ?  Which  is  that 
state  which  promises  to  edify  a  great,  brave,  and  benefi- 
cient  man ;  to  throw  him  on  his  resources,  and  tax  the 
strength  of  his  character  ?  On  which  part  will  each  of 
us  find  himself  in  the  hour  of  health  and  of  aspiration  ? 

I  understand  well  the  respect  of  mankind  for  war, 
because  that  breaks  up  the  Chinese  stagnation  of  society, 
and  demonstrates  the  personal  merits  of  all  men.  A 


260  THE     CONSERVATIVE. 

state  of  war  or  anarchy,  in  which  law  has  little  force,  is 
so  far  valuable,  that  it  puts  every  man  on  trial.  The 
man  of  principle  is  known  as  such,  and  even  in  the  fury 
of  faction  is  respected.  In  the  civil  wars  of  France, 
Montaigne  alone,  among  all  the  French  gentry,  kept  his 
castle  gates  unbarred,  and  made  his  personal  integrity 
as  good  at  least  as  a  regiment.  The  man  of  courage  and 
resources  is  shown,  and  the  effeminate  and  base  person. 
Those  who  rise  above  war,  and  those  who  fall  below  it, 
it  easily  discriminates,  as  well  as  those  who,  accepting 
its  rude  conditions,  keep  their  own  head  by  their  own 
sword. 

But  in  peace  and  a  commercial  state  we  depend,  not  as 
we  ought,  on  our  knowledge  and  all  men's  knowledge 
that  we  are  honest  men,  but  we  cowardly  lean  on  the 
virtue  of  others.  For  it  is  always  the  virtue  of  some 
men  in  the  society,  which  keeps  the  law  in  any  reverence 
and  power.  Is  there  not  something  shameful  that  I 
should  owe  my  peaceful  occupancy  of  my  house  and  field, 
not  to  the  knowledge  of  my  countrymen  that  I  am  use 
ful,  but  to  their  respect  for  sundry  other  reputable  per 
sons,  I  know  not  whom,  whose  joint  virtues  still  keep 
the  law  in  good  odor  ? 

It  will  never  make  any  difference  to  a  hero  what  the 
laws  are.  His  greatness  will  shine  and  accomplish  itself 
unto  the  end,  whether  they  second  him  or  not.  If  he 
have  earned  his  bread  by  drudgery,  and  in  the  narrow 
and  crooked  ways  which  were  all  an  evil  law  had  left 
him,  he  will  make  it  at  least  honorable  by  his  expendi 
ture.  Of  the  past  he  will  take  no  heed ;  for  its  wrongs 
he  will  not  hold  himself  responsible :  he  will  say,  all  the 


THE    CONSERVATIVE.  261 

meanness  of  my  progenitors  shall  not  bereave  me  of  the 
power  to  make  this  hour  and  company  fair  and  fortunate. 
Whatsoever  streams  of  power  and  commodity  flow  to  me, 
shall  of  me  acquire  healing  virtue,  and  become  fountains 
of  safety.  Cannot  I  too  descend  a  Redeemer  into  na 
ture  ?  Whosoever  hereafter  shall  name  my  name,  shall 
not  record  a  malefactor,  but  a  benefactor  in  the  earth. 
If  there  be  power  in  good  intention,  in  fidelity,  and  in 
toil,  the  north-wind  shall  be  purer,  the  stars  in  heaven 
shall  glow  with  a  kindlier  beam,  that  I  have  lived.  I  am 
primarily  engaged  to  myself  to  be  a  public  servant  of  all 
the  gods,  to  demonstrate  to  all  men  that  there  is  intelli 
gence  and  good-will  at  the  heart  of  things,  and  ever 
higher  and  yet  higher  leadings.  These  are  my  engage 
ments  ;  how  can  your  law  further  or  hinder  me  in  what 
1  shall  do  to  men  ?  On  the  other  hand,  these  disposi 
tions  establish  their  relations  to  me.  Wherever  there  is 
•worth  I  shall  be  greeted.  Wherever  there  are  men,  are 
the  objects  of  my  study  and  love.  Sooner  or  later  all 
men  will  be  my  friends,  and  will  testify  in  all  methods 
the  energy  of  their  regard.  I  cannot  thank  your  law  for 
my  protection.  I  protect  it.  It  is  not  in  its  power  to 
protect  me.  It  is  my  business  to  make  myself  revered. 
I  depend  on  my  honor,  my  labor,  and  my  dispositions, 
for  my  place  in  the  affections  of  mankind,  and  not  on  any 
conventions  or  parchments  of  yours. 

But  if  I  allow  myself  in  derelictions,  and  become  idle 
and  dissolute,  I  quickly,  come  to  love  the  protection  of  a 
strong  law,  because  I  feel  no  title  in  myself  to  my  advan 
tages.  To  the  intemperate  and  covetous  person  no  love 
flows  ;  to  him  mankind  would  pay  no  rent,  no  dividend, 


262  THE     CONSERVATIVE. 

if  force  were  once  relaxed ;  nay,  if  they  could  give  their 
verdict,  they  would  say,  that  his  self-indulgence  and  his 
oppression  deserved  punishment  from  society,  and  not 
that  rich  board  and  lodging  he  now  enjoys.  The  law 
acts  then  as  a  screen  of  his  unworthiness,  and  makes  him 
worse  the  longer  it  protects  him. 

In  conclusion,  to  return  from  this  alternation  of  partial 
views,  to  the  high  platform  of  universal  and  necessary 
history,  it  is  a  happiness  for  mankind  that  innovation 
has  got  on  so  far,  and  has  so  free  a  field  before  it.  The 
boldness  of  the  hope  men  entertain  transcends  all  former 
experience.  It  calms  and  cheers  them  with  the  picture 
of  a  simple  and  equal  life  of  truth  and  piety.  And  this 
hope  flowered  on  what  tree  ?  It  was  not  imported  from 
the  stock  of  some  celestial  plant,  but  grew  here  on  the 
wild  crab  of  conservatism.  It  is  much  that  this  old  and 
vituperated  system  of  things  has  borne  so  fair  a  child. 
It  predicts  that,  amidst  a  planet  peopled  with  conserva 
tives,  one  Reformer  may  yet  be  born. 


THE  TRANSCENDENTALISM 


A  LECTURE  HEAD  AT  THE   MASONIC  TEMPLE,  BOSTON, 
JANUARY,  1842. 


THE   TBANSCENDENTALIST. 


THE  first  thing  we  have  to  say  respecting  what  are 
called  new  views  here  in  New  England,  at  the  present 
time,  is,  that  they  are  not  new,  but  the  very  oldest  of 
thoughts  cast  into  the  mould  of  these  new  times.  The 
light  is  always  identical  in  its  composition,  but  it  falls  on 
a  great  variety  of  objects,  and  by  so  falling  is  first  re 
vealed  to  us,  not  in  its  own  form,  for  it  is  formless,  but 
in  theirs  ;  in  like  manner,  thought  only  appears  in  the 
objects  it  classifies.  What  is  popularly  called  Tran 
scendentalism  among  us,  is  Idealism  ;  Idealism  as  it  ap 
pears  in  1842.  As  thinkers,  mankind  have  ever  divided 
into  two  sects,  Materialists  and  Idealists;  the  first  class 
founded  on  experience,  the  second  on  consciousness ; 
the  first  class  beginning  to  think  from  the  data  of  the 
senses,  the  second  class  perceive  that  the  senses  are  not 
final,  and  say  the  senses  give  us  representations  of  things, 
but  what  are  the  things  themselves,  they  cannot  tell. 
The  materialist  insists  on  facts,  on  history,  on  the  force 
of  circumstances,  and  the  animal  wants  of  man;  the 
idealist,  on  the  power  of  Thought  and  of  Will,  on  in 
spiration,  on  miracle,  on  individual  culture.  These  two 
modes  of  thinking  are  both  natural,  but  the  idealist  con 
tends  that  his  way  of  thinking  is  in  higher  nature.  He 
12 


266  THE    TRANSCENDENTALIST. 

concedes  all  that  the  other  affirms,  admits  the  impres 
sions  of  sense,  admits  their  coherency,  their  use  and 
beauty,  and  then  asks  the  materialist  for  his  grounds  of 
assurance  that  tilings  are  as  his  senses  represent  them. 
But  I,  he  says,  affirm  facts  not  affected  by  the  illusions 
of  sense,  facts  which  are  of  the  same  nature  as  the  fac 
ulty  which  reports  them,  and  not  liable  to  doubt ;  facts 
which  in  their  first  appearance  to  us  assume  a  native 
superiority  to  material  facts,  degrading  these  into  a  lan 
guage  by  which  the  first  are  to  be  spoken ;  facts  which 
it  only  needs  a  retirement  from  the  senses  to  discern. 
Every  materialist  will  be  an  idealist ;  but  an  idealist  can 
never  go  backward  to  be  a  materialist. 

The  idealist,  in  speaking  of  events,  sees  them  as 
spirits.  He  does  not  deny  the  sensuous  fact:  by  no 
means ;  but  he  will  not  see  that  alone.  He  does  not 
deny  the  presence  of  this  table,  this  chair,  and  the  walls 
of  this  room,  but  he  looks  at  these  things  as  the  reverse 
side  of  the  tapestry,  as  the  other  end,  each  being  a  sequel 
or  completion  of  a  spiritual  fact  which  merely  concerns 
him.  This  manner  of  looking  at  things  transfers  every 
object  in  nature  from  an  independent  and  anomalous 
position  without  there,  into  the  consciousness.  Even 
the  materialist  Condillac,  perhaps  the  most  logical  ex 
pounder  of  materialism,  was  constrained  to  say :  "  Though 
we  should  soar  into  the  heavens,  though  we  should  sink 
into  the  abyss,  we  never  go  out  of  ourselves ;  it  is 
always  our  own  thought  that  we  perceive."  What  more 
could  an  idealist  say  ? 

The  materialist,  secure  in  the  certainty  of  sensation, 
mocks  at  fine-spun  theories,  at  star-gazers  and  dreamers, 


THE    TRANSCENDENTALISM  267 

and  believes  that  his  life  is  solid,  that  he  at  least  takes 
nothing  for  granted,  but  knows  where  he  stands,  and 
what  lie  does.  Yet  how  easy  it  is  to  show  him  that  he 
also  is  a  phantom  walking  and  working  amid  phantoms, 
and  that  he  need  only  ask  a  question  or  two  beyond  his 
daily  questions,  to  find  his  solid  universe  growing  dim 
and  impalpable  before  his  sense.  The  sturdy  capitalist, 
no  matter  how  deep  and  square  on  blocks  of  Quincy 
granite  he  lays  the  foundations  of  his  banking-house  or 
Exchange,  must  set  it,  at  last,  not  on  a  cube  correspond 
ing  to  the  angles  of  his  structure,  but  on  a  mass  of 
unknown  materials  and  solidity,  red-hot  or  white-hot, 
perhaps  at  the  core,  which  rounds  off  to  an  almost  per 
fect  sphericity,  and  lies  floating  in  soft  air,  and  goes 
spinning  away,  dragging  bank  and  banker  with  it  at 
a  rate  of  thousands  of  miles  the  hour,  he  knows  not 
whither,  —  a  bit  of  bullet,  now  glimmering,  now  dark 
ling  through  a  small  cubic  space  on  the  edge  of  an  unim 
aginable  pit  of  emptiness.  And  this  wild  balloon,  in 
which  his  whole  venture  is  embarked,  is  a  just  symbol 
of  his  whole  state  and  faculty.  One  thing,  at  least,  he 
says,  is  certain,  and  does  not  give  me  the  headache,  that 
figures  do  not  lie  ;  the  multiplication-table  has  been  hith 
erto  found  unimpeachable  truth ;  and,  moreover,  if  I  put 
a  gold  eagle  in  my  safe,  I  find  it  again  to-morrow ;  but 
for  these  thoughts,  I  know  not  whence  they  are.  They 
change  and  pass  away.  But  ask  him  why  he  believes 
that  an  uniform  experience  will  continue  uniform,  or  on 
what  grounds  he  founds  his  faith  in  his  figures,  and  he 
will  perceive  that  his  mental  fabric  is  built  up  on  just 
as  strange  and  quaking  foundations  as  his  proud  edi 
fice  of  stone. 


268  THE     TRANSCENDENTALISM 

In  the  order  of  thought,  the  materialist  takes  his 
departure  from  the  external  world,  and  esteems  a  man 
as  one  product  of  that.  The  idealist  takes  his  departure 
from  his  consciousness,  and  reckons  the  world  an  appear 
ance.  The  materialist  respects  sensible  masses,  Society, 
Government,  social  art,  and  luxury,  every  establishment, 
every  mass,  whether  majority  of  numbers,  or  extent  of 
space,  or  amount  of  objects,  every  social  action.  The 
idealist  has  another  measure,  which  is  metaphysical, 
namely,  the  rank  which  things  themselves  take  in  his 
consciousness  ;  not  at  all,  the  size  or  appearance.  Mind 
is  the  only  reality,  of  which  men  and  all  other  natures 
are  better  or  worse  reflectors.  Nature,  literature,  his 
tory,  are  only  subjective  phenomena.  Although  in  his 
action  overpowered  by  the  laws  of  action,  and  so, 
warmly  co-operating  with  men,  even  preferring  them  to 
himself,  yet  when  he  speaks  scientifically,  or  after  the 
order  of  thought,  he  is  constrained  to  degrade  persons 
into  representatives  of  truths.  He  does  not  respect 
labor,  or  the  products  of  labor,  namely,  property,  other 
wise  than  as  a  manifold  symbol,  illustrating  with  wonder 
ful  fidelity  of  details  the  laws  of  being ;  he  does  not 
respect  government,  except  as  far  as  it  reiterates  the 
law  of  his  mind ;  nor  the  church ;  nor  charities ;  nor 
arts,  for  themselves;  but  hears,  as  at  a  vast  distance, 
what  they  say,  as  if  his  consciousness  would  speak  to 
him  through  a  pantomimic  scene.  His  thought,  —  that 
is  the  Universe.  His  experience  inclines  him  to  behold 
the  procession  of  facts  you  call  the  world,  as  flowing 
perpetually  outward  from  an  invisible,  unsounded  centre 
in  himself,  centre  alike  of  him  and  of  them,  and  necessi- 


THE    TRANSCENDENTALISM  269 

tating  him  to  regard  all  things  as  having  a  subjective  or 
relative  existence,  relative  'to  that  aforesaid  Unknown 
Centre  of  him. 

From  this  transfer  of  the  world  into  the  consciousness, 
this  beholding  of  all  things  in  the  mind,  follow  easily  his 
whole  ethics.  It  is  simpler  to  be  self-dependent.  The 
height,  the  deity  of  man  is,  to  be  self-sustained,  to  need 
no  gift,  no  foreign  force.  Society  is  good  when  it  does 
not  violate  me;  but  best  when  it  is  likest  to  solitude. 
Everything  real  is  self-existent.  Everything  divine 
shares  the  self-existence  of  Deity.  All  that  you  call  the 
world  is  the  shadow  of  that  substance  which  you  are, 
the  perpetual  creation  of  the  powers  of  thought,  of  those 
that  are  dependent  and  of  those  that  are  independent  of 
your  will.  Do  not  cumber  yourself  with  fruitless  pains 
to  mend  and  remedy  remote  effects ;  let  the  soul  be 
erect,  and  all  things  will  go  well.  You  think  me  the 
child  of  my  circumstances  :  I  make  my  circumstance. 
Let  any  thought  or  motive  of  mine  be  different  from  that 
they  are,  the  difference  will  transform  my  condition  and 
economy.  I  —  this  thought  which  is  called  I  —  is  the 
mould  into  which  the  world  is  poured  like  melted  wax. 
The  mould  is  invisible,  but  the  world  betrays  the  shape 
of  the  mould.  You  call  it  the  power  of  circumslance, 
but  it  is  the  power  of  me.  Am  I  in  harmony  with  my 
self?  my  position  will  seem  to  you  just  and  command 
ing.  Am  I  vicious  and  insane  ?  my  fortunes  will  seem 
to  you  obscure  and  descending.  As  I  am,  so  shall  I 
associate,  and  so  shall  I  act ;  Caesar's  history  will  paint 
out  Csesar.  Jesus  acted  so,  because  he  thought  so.  I 
do  not  wish  to  overlook  or  to  gainsay  any  reality ; 


270  THE    TRANSCENpENTALIST. 

I  say,  I  make  my  circumstance  :  but  if  you  ask  me, 
Whence  am  I?  I  feel  like  other  men  my  relation  to 
that  Fact  which  cannot  be  spoken  or  defined,  nor  even 
thought,  but  which  exists,  and  will  exist. 

The  Transcendentalist  adopts  the  whole  connection 
of  spiritual  doctrine.  He  believes  in  miracle,  in  the 
perpetual  openness  of  the  human  mind  to  new  influx 
of  light  and  power;  he  believes  in  inspiration  and  in 
ecstasy.  He  wishes  that  the  spiritual  principle  should 
be  suffered  to  demonstrate  itself  to  the  end,  in  all  possi 
ble  applications  to  the  state  of  man,  without  the  admis 
sion  of  anything  unspiritual ;  that  is,  anything  positive, 
dogmatic,  personal.  Thus,  the  spiritual  measure  of 
inspiration  is  the  depth  of  the  thought,  and  never,  who 
said  it  ?  And  so  he  resists  all  attempts  to  palm  other 
rules  and  measures  on  the  spirit  than  its  own. 

In  action,  he  easily  incurs  the  charge  of  antinomian- 
ism  by  his  avowal  that  he,  who  has  the  Lawgiver,  may 
with  safety  not  only  neglect,  but  even  contravene  every 
written  commandment.  In  the  play  of  Othello,  the 
expiring  Desdemona  absolves  her  husband  of  the  mur 
der,  to  her  attendant  Emilia.  Afterwards,  when  Emilia 
charges  him  with  the  crime,  Othello  exclaims, 

"  You  heard  her  say  herself  it  was  not  I." 

Emilia  replies, 

"  The  more  angel  she,  and  thou  the  blacker  devil." 

Of  this  fine  incident,  Jacobi,  the  Transcendental  mor 
alist,  makes  use,  with  other  parallel  instances,  in  his 
reply  to  Fichte.  Jacobi,  refusing  all  measure  of  right 


THE     TRANSCENDENTALISM  271 

and  wrong  except  the  determinations  of  the  private 
spirit,  remarKs  that  there  is  no  crime  but  has  sometimes 
been  a  virtue.  "  I,"  he  says,  "  am  that  atheist,  that 
godless  person  who,  in  opposition  to  an  imaginary 
doctrine  of  calculation,  would  lie  as  the  dying  Desde- 
mona  lied  ;  would  lie  and  deceive,  as  Py lades  when  he 
personated  Orestes ;  would  assassinate  like  Timoleon  ; 
would  perjure  myself  like  Epaminondas,  and  John  de 
Witt ;  I  would  resolve  on  suicide  like  Cato ;  I  would 
commit  sacrilege  with  David  ;  yea,  and  pluck  ears  of 
corn  on  the  Sabbath,  for  no  other  reason  than  that  I  was 
fainting  for  lack  of  food.  For,  I  have  assurance  in 
myself,  that,  in  pardoning  these  faults  according  to  the 
letter,  man  exerts  the  sovereign  right  which  the  majesty 
of  his  being  confers  on  him;  he  sets  the  seal  of  his 
divine  nature  to  the  grace  he  accords."  * 

In  like  manner,  if  there  is  anything  grand  and  daring 
in  human  thought  or  virtue,  any  reliance  on  the  vast, 
the  unknown ;  any  presentiment ;  any  extravagance  of 
faith,  the  spiritualist  adopts  it  as  most  in  nature.  The 
Oriental  mind  has  always  tended  to  this  largeness. 
Buddhism  is  an  expression  of  it.  The  Buddhist  who 
thanks  no  man,  who  says,  "  Do  not  natter  your  benefac 
tors,"  but  who,  in  his  conviction  that  every  good  deed 
can  by  no  possibility  escape  its  reward,  will  not  deceive 
the  benefactor  by  pretending  that  he  has  done  more  than 
he  should,  is  a  Transcendentalist. 

You  will  see  by  this  sketch  that  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  a  Transcendental  party ;  that  there  is  no  pure  Tran- 

*  Coleridge's  Translation. 


272  THE    TRANSCENDENTALISM 

scendentalist ;  that  we  know  of  none  but  prophets  and 
heralds  of  such  a  philosophy ;  that  all  who  by  strong  bias 
of  nature  have  leaned  to  the  spiritual  side  in  doctrine, 
have  stopped  short  of  their  goal.  We  have  had  many 
harbingers  and  forerunners;  but  of  a  purely  spiritual 
life,  history  has  afforded  no  example.  I  mean,  we  have 
yet  no  man  who  has  leaned  entirely  on  his  character,  and 
eaten  angels'  food;  who,  trusting  to  his  sentiments, 
found  life  made  of  miracles ;  who,  working  for  universal 
aims,  found  himself  fed,  he  knew  not  how :  clothed,  shel 
tered,  and  weaponed,  he  knew  not  how,  and  yet  it  was 
done  by  his  own  hands.  Only  in  the  instinct  of  the 
lower  animals,  we  find  the  suggestion  of  the  methods  of 
it,  and  something  higher  than  our  understanding.  The 
squirrel  hoards  nuts,  and  the  bee  gathers  honey,  without 
knowing  what  they  do,  and  they  are  thus  provided  for 
without  selfishness  or  disgrace. 

Shall  we  say,  then,  that  Trancendentalism  is  the  Sa 
turnalia  or  excess  of  Faith  ;  the  presentiment  of  a  faith 
proper  to  man  in  his  integrity,  excessive  only  when  his 
imperfect  obedience  hinders  the  satisfaction  of  his  wish  ? 
Nature  is  transcendental,  exists  primarily,  necessarily, 
ever  works  and  advances,  yet  takes  no  thought  for  the 
morrow.  Man  owns  the  dignity  of  the  life  which  throbs 
around  him  in  chemistry,  and  tree,  and  animal,  and  in 
the  involuntary  functions  of  his  own  body ;  yet  he  is 
balked  when  he  tries  to  fling  himself  into  this  enchanted 
circle,  where  all  is  done  without  degradation.  Yet  gen 
ius  and  virtue  predict  in  man  the  same  absence  of  pri 
vate  ends,  and  of  condescension  to  circumstances,  united 
with  every  trait  and  talent  of  beauty  and  power. 


THE    TRANSCENDENTALIST.          273 

This  way  of  thinking,  falling  on  Roman  times,  made 
Stoic  philosophers;  falling  on  despotic  times,  made  pa 
triot  Catos  and  Brutuses;  falling  on  superstitious  times, 
made  prophets  and  apostles  ;  on  popish  times,  made  prot- 
estants  and  ascetic  monks,  preachers  of  Faith  against  the 
preachers  of  Works  ;  on  prelatical  times,  made  Puritans 
and  Quakers ;  and  falling  on  Unitarian  and  commercial 
times,  makes  the  peculiar  shades  of  Idealism  which  we 
know. 

It  is  well  known  to  most  of  my  audience,  that  the 
Idealism  of  the  present  day  acquired  the  name  of  Tran 
scendental,  from  the  use  of  that  term  by  Immanuel 
Kant,  of  Kb'nigsberg,  who  replied  to  the  sceptical  philos 
ophy  of  Locke,  which  insisted  that  there  was  nothing  in 
the  intellect  which  was  not  previously  in  the  experience 
of  the  senses,  by  showing  that  there  was  a  very  impor 
tant  class  of  ideas,  or  imperative  forms,  which  did  not 
come  by  experience,  but  through  which  experience  was 
acquired;  that  these  were  intuitions  of  the  mind  itself; 
and  he  denominated  them  Transcendental  forms.  The 
extraordinary  profoundness  and  precision  of  that  man's 
thinking  have  given  vogue  to  his  nomenclature,  in 
Europe  and  America,  to  that  extent,  that  whatever  be 
longs  to  the  class  of  intuitive  thought,  is  popularly 
called  at  the  present  day  Transcendental, 

Although,  as  we  have  said,  there  is  no  pure  Transcen- 
dentalist,  yet  the  tendency  to  respect  the  intuitions,  and 
to  give  them  at  least  in  our  creed  all  authority  over  our 
experience,  has  deeply  colored  the  conversation  and  po 
etry  of  the  present  day  ;  and  the  history  of  genius  and  of 
religion  in  these  times,  though  impure,  and  as  yet  not 
12*  B. 


274  THE    TRANSCENDENTALISM 

incarnated  in  any  powerful  individual,  will  be  the  history 
of  this  tendency. 

It  is  a  sign  of  our  times,  conspicuous  to  the  closest 
observer,  that  many  intelligent  and  religious  persons 
withdraw  themselves  from  the  common  labors  and  com 
petitions  of  the  market  and  the  caucus,  and  betake 
themselves  to  a  certain  solitary  and  critical  way  of 
living,  from  which  no  solid  fruit  has  yet  appeared  to 
justify  their  separation.  They  hold  themselves  aloof: 
they  feel  the  disproportion  between  their  faculties  and 
the  work  offered  them,  and  'they  prefer  to  ramble  in  the 
country  and  perish  of  ennui  to  the  degradation  of  such 
charities  and  such  ambitions  as  the  city  can  propose  to 
them.  They  are  striking  work,  and  crying  out  for  some 
what  worthy  to  do  !  What  they  do,  is  done  only  because 
they  are  overpowered  by  the  humanities  that  speak  on 
all  sides ;  and  they  consent  to  such  labor  as  is  open  to 
them,  though  to  their  lofty  dream  the  writing  of  Iliads 
or  Hamlets,  or  the  building  of  cities  or  empires,  seems 
drudgery. 

Now  every  one  must  do  after  his  kind,  be  he  asp  or 
angel,  and  these  must.  The  question,  which  a  wise  man 
and  a  student  of  modern  history  will  ask,  is,  what  that 
kind  is  ?  And  truly,  as  in  ecclesiastical  history  we  take  so 
much  pains  to  know  what  the  Gnostics,  what  the  Essenes, 
what  the  Manichees,  and  what  the  Reformers  believed, 
it  would  not  misbecome  us  to  inquire  nearer  home,  what 
these  companions  and  contemporaries  of  ours  think  and 
do,  at  least  so  far  as  these  thoughts  and  actions  appear 
to  be  not  accidental  and  personal,  but  common  to  many, 
and  the  inevitable  flower  of  the  Tree  of  Time.  Our 


THE     TRANSCENDENTALIST.  275 

American  literature  and  spiritual  history  are,  we  confess, 
in  the  optative  mood  ;  but  whoso  knows  these  seething 
brains,  these  admirable  radicals,  these  unsocial  worship 
pers,  these  talkers  who  talk  the  sun  and  moon  away,  will 
believe  that  this  heresy  cannot  pass  away  without  leav 
ing  its  mark. 

They  are  lonely ;  the  spirit  of  their  writing  and  con 
versation  is  lonely ;  they  repel  influences ;  they  shun 
general  society ;  they  incline  to  shut  themselves  in  their 
chamber  in  the  house,  to  live  in  the  country  rather  than 
in  the  town,  and  to  find  their  tasks  and  amusements  in 
solitude.  Society,  to  be  sure,  does  not  like  this  very 
well ;  it  saith,  Whoso  goes  to  walk  alone,  accuses  the 
whole  world  ;  he  declareth  all  to  be  unfit  to  be  his  com 
panions  ;  it  is  very  uncivil,  nay,  insulting ;  Society  will 
retaliate.  Meantime,  this  retirement  does  not  proceed 
from  any  whim  on  the  part  of  these  separators  ;  but  if 
any  one  will  take  pains  to  talk  with  them,  he  will  find 
that  this  part  is  chosen  both  from  temperament  and  from 
principle  ;  with  some  unwillingness,  too,  and  as  a  choice 
of  the  less  of  two  evils;  for  these  persons  are  not  by 
nature  melancholy,  sour,  and  unsocial,  —  they  are  not 
stockish  or  brute,  —  but  joyous;  susceptible,  affection 
ate  ;  they  have  even  more  than  others  a  great  wish  to  be 
loved.  Like  the  young  Mozart,  they  are  rather  ready  to 
cry  ten  times  a  day,  "  But  are  you  sure  you  love  me  ?  " 
Nay,  if  they  tell  you  their  whole  thought,  they  will  own 
that  love  seems  to  them  the  last  and  highest  gift  of  na 
ture  ;  that  there  are  persons  whom  in  their  hearts  they 
daily  thank  for  existing,  —  persons  whose  faces  are  per 
haps  unknown  to  them,  but  whose  fame  and  spirit  have 


276  THE    TRANSCENDENTALISM1. 

penetrated  their  solitude,  —  and  for  whose  sake  they 
wish  to  exist.  To  behold  the  beauty  of  another  charac 
ter,  which  inspires  a  new  interest  in  our  own ;  to  behold 
the  beauty  lodged  in  a  human  being,  with  such  vivacity 
of  apprehension,  that  I  am  instantly  forced  home  to  in 
quire  if  I  am  not  deformity  itself :  to  behold  in  another 
the  expression  of  a  love  so  high  that  it  assures  itself,  — 
assures  itself  also  to  me  against  every  possible  casualty 
except  my  unworthiness  ;  these  are  degrees  on  the  scale 
of  human  happiness,  to  which  they  have  ascended ;  and 
it  is  a  fidelity  to  this  sentiment  which  has  made  common 
association  distasteful  to  them.<JCJiey  wish  a  just  and 
even  fellowship,  or  none.  They  cannot  gossip  with  you, 
and  they  do  not  wish,  as  they  are  sincere  and  religious, 
to  gratify  any  mere  curiosity  which  you  may  entertain. 
Like  fairies,  they  do  not  wish  to  be  spoken  of.  Love 
me,  they  say,  but  do  not  ask  who  is  my  cousin  and  my 
uncle.  If  you  do  not  need  to  hear  my  thought,  because 
you  can  read  it  in  my  face  and  my  behavior,  then  I 
will  tell  it  you  from  sunrise  to  sunset.  If  you  cannot 
divine  it,  you  would  not  understand  what  I  say.  I 
will  not  molest  myself  for  you.  I  do  not  wish  to  be 
profaned. 

And  yet,  it  seems  as  if  this  loneliness,  and  not  this 
love,  would  prevail  in  their  circumstances,  because  of  the 
extravagant  demand  they  make  on  human  nature.  That, 
indeed,  constitutes  a  new  feature  in  their  portrait,  that 
they  are  the  most  exacting  and  extortionate  critics. 
Their  quarrel  with  every  man  they  meet  is  not  with  his 
kind,  but  with  his  degree.  There  is  not  enough  of  him, 
— that  is  the  only  fault.  They  prolong  their  privilege  ot 


THE     TRANSCENDENTAL1ST.  277 

childhood  in  this  wise,  of  doing  nothing,  —  but  making 
immense  demands  on  all  the  gladiators  in  the  lists  of 
action  and  fame.  They  make  us  feel  the  strange  disap 
pointment  which  overcasts  every  human  youth.  So  many 
promising  youths,  and  never  a  finished  man !  The  pro 
found  nature  will  have  a  savage  rudeness ;  the  delicate 
one  will  be  shallow,  or  the  victim  of  sensibility ;  the 
richly  accomplished  will  have  some  capital  absurdity  ;  and 
so  every  piece  has  a  crack.  'T  is  strange,  but  this  mas 
terpiece  is  a  result  of  such  an  extreme  delicacy,  that  the 
most  unobserved  flaw  in  the  boy  will  neutralize  the  most 
aspiring  genius,  and  spoil  the  work.  Talk  with  a  sea 
man  of  the  hazards  to  life  in  his  profession,  and  he  will 
ask  you,  "Where  are  the  old  sailors?  do  you  not  see 
that  all  are  young  men  ?  "  And  we,  on  this  sea  of  hu 
man  thought,  in  like  manner  inquire,  Where  are  the  old 
idealists  ?  Where  are  they  who  represented  to  the  last 
generation  that  extravagant  hope,  which  a  few  happy 
aspirants  suggest  to  ours?  In  looking  at  the  class  of 
counsel,  and  power,  and  wealth,  and  at  the  matronage  of 
the  land,  amidst  all  the  prudence  and  all  the  triviality, 
one  asks,  Where  are  they  who  represented  genius,  vir 
tue,  the  invisible  and  heavenly  world,  to  these  ?  Are 
they  dead,  —  taken  in  early  ripeness  to  the  gods,  —  as 
ancient  wisdom  foretold  their  fate  ?  Or  did  the  high 
idea  die  out  of  them,  and  leave  their  unperfumed  body  as 
its  tomb  and  tablet,  announcing  to  all  that  the  celestial 
inhabitant,  who  once  gave  them  beauty,  had  departed  ? 
Will  it  be  better  with  the  new  generation  ?  We  easily 
predict  a  fair  future  to  each  new  candidate  who  enters 
the  lists,  but  we  are  frivolous  and  volatile,  and  by  low 


278  THE    TRANSCENDENTALISM 

aims  and  ill  example  do  what  we  can  to  defeat  this  hope. 
Then  these  youths  bring  us  a  rough  but  effectual  aid. 
By  their  unconcealed  dissatisfaction  they  expose  our 
poverty,  and  the  insignificance  of  man  to  man.  A  man 
is  a  poor  limitary  benefactor.  He  ought  to  be  a  shower 
of  benefits,  —  a  great  influence,  which  should  never  let 
his  brother  go,  but  should  refresh  old  merits  continually 
with  new  ones  ;  so  that,  though  absent,  he  should  never 
be  out  of  my  mind,  his  name  never  far  from  my  lips ; 
but  if  the  earth  should  open  at  my  side,  or  my  last  hour 
were  come,  his  name  should  be  the  prayer  I  should  utter 
to  the  Universe.  But  in  our  experience,  man  is  cheap, 
and  friendship  wants  its  deep  sense.  We  affect  to 
dwell  with  our  friends  in  their  absence,  but  we  do  not ; 
when  deed,  word,  or  letter  comes  not,  they  let  us  go. 
These  exacting  children  advertise  us  of  our  wants. 
There  is  no  compliment,  no  smooth  speech  with  them ; 
they  pay  you  only  this  one  compliment,  of  insatiable  ex 
pectation  ;  they  aspire,  they  severely  exact,  and  if  they 
only  stand  fast  in  this  watch-tower,  and  persist  in  de 
manding  unto  the  end,  and  without  end,  then  are  they 
terrible  friends,  whereof  poet  and  priest  cannot  choose 
but  stand  in  awe  ;  and  what  if  they  eat  clouds,  and  drink 
wind,  they  have  not  been  without  service  to  the  race  of 
man. 

With  this  passion  for  what  is  great  and  extraordinary, 
it  cannot  be  wondered  at,  that  they  are  repelled  by  vul 
garity  and  frivolity  in  people:  j  They  say  to  themselves, 
It  is  better  to  be  alone  than  in  bad  company.  And  it  is 
really  a  wish  to  be  met,  —  the  wish  to  find  society  for 
their  hope  and  religion,  —  which  prompts  them  to  shun 


THE    TRANSCENDENTALISM  279 

what  is  called  society.  They  feel  that  they  are  never  so 
fit  for  friendship,  as  when  they  have  quitted  mankind, 
and  taken  themselves  to  friend.  A  picture,  a  book,  a 
favorite  spot  in  the  hills  or  the  woods,  which  they  can 
people  with  the  fair  and  worthy  creation  of  the  fancy, 
can  give  them  often  forms  so  vivid,  that  these  for  the 
time  shall  seem  real,  and  society  the  illusion. 

But  their  solitary  and  fastidious  manners  not  only 
withdraw  them  from  the  conversation,  but  from  the 
labors  of  the  world ;  they  are  not  good  citizens,  not  good 
members  of  society ;  unwillingly  they  bear  their  part  of 
the  public  and  private  burdens ;  they  do  not  willingly 
share  in  the  public  charities,  in  the  public  religious  rites, 
in  the  enterprises  of  education,  of  missions  foreign  or 
domestic,  in  the  abolition  of  the  slave-trade,  or  in  the 
temperance  society.  They  do  not  even  like  to  vote. 
The  philanthropists  inquire  whether  Transcendentalism 
does  not  mean  sloth  :  they  had  as  lief  hear  that  their 
friend  is  dead,  as  that  he  is  a  Transcendentalist ;  for 
then  is  he  paralyzed,  and  can  never  do  anything  for 
humanity.  What  right,  cries  the  good  world,  has  the 
man  of  genius  to  retreat  from  work,  and  indulge  him 
self?  The  popular  literary  creed  seems  to  be,  'I  am  a 
sublime  genius;  I  ought  not  therefore  to  labor.'  But 
genius  is  the  power  to  labor  better  and  more  availably. 
Deserve  thy  genius  :  exalt  it.  The  good,  the  illumi 
nated,  sit  apart  from  the  rest,  censuring  their  dulness 
and  vices,  as  if  they  thought  that,  by  sitting  very  grand 
in  their  chairs,  the  very  brokers,  attorneys,  and  congress 
men  would  see  the  error  of  their  ways,  and  flock  to 
them.  But  the  good  and  wise  must  learn  to  act,  and 


280  THE    TRANSCENDENTALISM 

carry  salvation  to  the  combatants  and  demagogues  in 
the  dusty  arena  below. 

On  the  part  of  these  children,  it  is  replied,  that  life 
and  their  faculty  seem  to  them  gifts  too  rich  to  be 
squandered  on  such  trifles  as  you  propose  to  them. 
What  you  call  your  fundamental  institutions,  your  great 
and  holy  causes,  seem  to  them  great  abuses,  and  when 
nearly  seen,  paltry  matters.  Each  'Cause,'  as  it  is 
called,  —  say  Abolition,  Temperance,  say  Calvinism,  or 
Unitarianism,  —  becomes  speedily  a  little  shop,  where 
the  article,  let  it  have  been  at  first  never  so  subtle  and 
ethereal,  is  now  made  up  into  portable  and  convenient 
cakes,  arid  retailed  in  small  quantities  to  suit  purchasers. 
You  make  very  free  use  of  these  words  '  great '  and  '  holy,' 
but  few  things  appear  to  them  such.  Few  persons  have 
any  magnificence  of  nature  to  inspire  enthusiasm,  and 
the  philanthropies  and  charities  have  a  certain  air  of 
quackery.  As  to  the  general  course  of  living,  and  the 
daily  employments  of  men,  they  cannot  see  much  virtue 
in  these,  since  they  are  parts  of  this  vicious  circle ;  and, 
as  no  great  ends  are  answered  by  the  men,  there  is 
nothing  noble  in  the  arts  by  which  they  are  maintained. 
Nay,  they  have  made  the  experiment,  and  found  that, 
from  the  liberal  professions  to  the  coarsest  manual  labor, 
and  from  the  courtesies  of  the  academy  and  the  college 
to  the  conventions  of  the  cotillon-room  and  the  morning 
call,  there  is  a  spirit  of  cowardly  compromise  and  seem 
ing,  which  intimates  a  frightful  scepticism,  a  life  with 
out  love,  and  an  activity  without  an  aim. 

Unless  the  action  is  necessary,  unless  it  is  adequate,  I 
do  not  wish  to  perform  it.  I  do  not  wish  to  do  one 


THE    TE.ANSCENDENTALIST.  281 

thing  but  once.  I  do  not  love  routine.  Once  possessed 
of  the  principle,  it  is  equally  easy  to  make  four  or  forty 
thousand  applications  of  it.  A  great  man  will  be  content 
to  have  indicated  in  any  the  slightest  manner  his  percep 
tion  of  the  reigning  Idea  of  his  time,  and  will  leave  to 
those  who  like  it  the  multiplication  of  examples.  When 
he  has  hit  the  white,  the  rest  may  shatter  the  target. 
Everything  admonishes  us  how  needlessly  long  life  is. 
Every  moment  of  a  hero  so  raises  and  cheers  us,  that 
a  twelvemonth  is  an  age.  All  that  the  brave  Xanthus 
brings  home  from  his  wars,  is  the  recollection  that,  at  the 
storming  of  Samos,  "in  the  heat  of  the  battle,  Pericles 
smiled  on  me,  and  passed  on  to  another  detachment." 
It  is  the  quality  of  the  moment,  not  the  number  of  days, 
of  events,  or  of  actors,  that  imports. 

New,  we  confess,  and  by  no  means  happy,  is  our  con 
dition  :  if  you  want  the  aid  of  our  labor,  we  ourselves 
stand  in  greater  want  of  the  labor.  We  are  miserable 
with  inaction.  We  perish  of  rest  and  rust :  but  we  do 
not  like  your  work. 

'  Then,5  says  the  world,  '  show  me  your  own.' 

'  We  have  none.' 

'  What  will  you  do,  then  ? '  cries  the  world. 

'  We  will  wait/ 

'  How  long  ? ' 

'  Until  the  Universe  beckons  and  calls  us  to  work.' 

'  But  whilst  you  wait,  you  grow  old  and  useless.' 

'  Be  it  so :  I  can  sit  in  a  corner  and  perish  (as  you 
call  it),  but  I  will  not  move  until  I  have  the  highest  com 
mand.  If  no  call  should  come  for  years,  for  centuries, 
then  I  know  that  the  want  of  the  Universe  is  the  attesta- 


282  THE    TRANSCENDENTALISM 

tion  of  faith  by  my  abstinence.  Your  virtuous  projects, 
so  called,  do  not  cheer  me.  I  know  that  which  shall 
come  will  cheer  me.  If  I  cannot  work,  at  least  I  need 
not  lie.  All  that  is  clearly  due  to-day  is  not  to  lie.  In 
other  places,  other  men  have  encountered  sharp  trials, 
and  have  behaved  themselves  well.  The  martyrs  were 
sawn  asunder,  or  hung  alive  on  meat-hooks.  Cannot  we 
screw  our  courage  to  patience  and  truth,  and  without 
complaint,  or  even  with  good-humor,  await  our  turn  of 
action  in  the  Infinite  Counsels  ?  ' 

But  to  come  a  little  closer  to  the  secret  of  these  per 
sons,  we  must  say,  that  to  them  it  seems  a  very  easy 
matter  to  answer  the  objections  of  the  man  of  the  world, 
but  not  so  easy  to  dispose  of  the  doubts  and  objections 
that  occur  to  themselves.  They  are  exercised  in  their 
own  spirit  with  queries,  which  acquaint  them  with  all  ad 
versity,  and  with  the  trials  of  the  bravest  heroes.  When 
I  asked  them  concerning  their  private  experience,  they  an 
swered  somewhat  in  this  wise  :  It  is  not  to  be  denied  that 
there  must  be  some  wide  difference  between  my  faith  and 
other  faith ;  and  mine  is  a  certain  brief  experience,  which 
surprised  me  in  the  highway  or  in  the  market,  in  some 
place,  at  some  time,  —  whether  in  the  body  or  out  of  the 
body,  God  knoweth,  —  and  made  me  aware  that  I  had 
played  the  fool  with  fools  all  this  time,  but  that  law 
existed  for  me  and  for  all ;  that  to  me  belonged  trust,  a 
child's  trust  and  obedience,  and  the  worship  of  ideas,  and 
I  should  never  be  fool  more.  Well,  in  the  space  of  an 
hour,  probably,  I  was  let  down  from  this  height ;  I  was 
at  my  old  tricks,  the  selfish  member  of  a  selfish  society. 
My  life  is  superficial,  takes  no  root  in  the  deep  world ;  I 


THE    TRANSCENDENTALIST.  283 

ask,  When  shall  I  die,  and  be  relieved  of  the  responsibil 
ity  of  seeing  an  Universe  which  I  do  not  use  ?  I  wish  to 
exchange  this  flash-of-lightning  faith  for  continuous  day 
light,  this  fever-glow  for  a  benign  climate. 

These  two  states  of  thought  diverge  every  moment, 
and  stand  in  wild  contrast.  To  him  who  looks  at  his  life 
Trom  these  moments  of  illumination,  it  will  seem  that  he 
skulks  and  plays  a  mean,  shiftless,  and  subaltern  part  in 
the  world.  That  is  to  be  done  which  he  has  not  skill  to 
do,  or  to  be  said  which  others  can  say  better,  and  he  lies 
by,  or  occupies  his  hands  with  some  plaything,  until  his 
hour  comes  again.  Much  of  our  reading,  much  of  our 
labor,  seems  mere  waiting  :  it  was  not  that  we -were  born 
for.  Any  other  could  do  it  as  well,  or  better.  So  little 
skill  enters  into  these  works,  so  little  do  they  mix  with 
the  divine  life,  that  it  really  signifies  little  what  we  do, 
whether  we  turn  a  grindstone,  or  ride,  or  run,  or  make 
fortunes,  or  govern  the  state.  The  worst  feature  of  this 
double  consciousness  is,  that  the  two  lives,  of  the  under 
standing  and  of  the  soul,  which  we  lead,  really  show  very 
little  relation  to  each  other,  never  meet  and  measure  each 
other  :  one  prevails  now,  all  buzz  and  din  ;  and  the  other 
prevails  then,  all  infinitude  and  paradise  ;  and  with  the 
progress  of  life,  the  two  discover  no  greater  disposition 
to  reconcile  themselves.  Yet  what  is  my  faith  ?  What 
am  I  ?  What  but  a  thought  of  deep  serenity  and  inde 
pendence,  an  abode  in  the  deep  blue  sky  ?  Presently  the 
clouds  shut  down  again ;  yet  we  retain  the  belief  that 
this  petty  web  we  weave  will  at  last  be  overshot  and 
reticulated  with  veins  of  the  blue,  and  that  the  moments 
will  characterize  the  days.  Patience,  then,  is  for  us,  is  it 


284  THE    TRANSCENDENTALISM 

not  ?  Patience,  and  still  patience.  When  we  pass,  a* 
presently  we  shall,  into  some  new  infinitude,  out  of  this 
Iceland  of  negations,  it  will  please  us  to  reflect  that, 
though  we  had  few  virtues  or  consolations,  we  bore  with 
our  indigence,  nor  once  strove  to  repair  it  with  hypocrisy 
or  false  heat  of  any  kind. 

But  this  class  are  not  sufficiently  characterized,  if  we 
omit  to  add  that  they  are  lovers  and  worshippers  of 
Leauty.  In  the  eternal  trinity  of  Truth,  Goodness,  and 
Beauty,  each  in  its  perfection  including  the  three,  they 
prefer  to  make  Beauty  the  sign  and  head.  Something 
of  the  same  taste  is  observable  in  all  the  moral  move 
ments  of  the  time,  in  the  religious  and  benevolent  enter, 
prises.  They  have  a  liberal,  even  an  aesthetic  spirit.  A 
reference  to  Beauty  in  action  sounds,  to  be  sure,  a  little 
hollow  and  ridiculous  in  the  ears  of  the  old  church.  In 
politics,  it  has  often  sufficed,  when  they  treated  of  justice, 
if  they  kept  the  bounds  of  selfish  calculation.  If  they 
granted  restitution,  it  was  prudence  which  granted  it. 
But  the  justice  which  is  now  claimed  for  the  black,  and 
the  pauper,  and  the  drunkard  is  for  Beauty,  —  is  for  a 
necessity  to  the  soul  of  the  agent,  not  of  the  beneficiary. 
I  say,  this  is  the  tendency,  not  yet  the  realization.  Our 
virtue  totters  and  trips,  does  not  yet  walk  firmly.  Its 
representatives  are  austere  ;  they  preach  and  denounce ; 
their  rectitude  is  not  yet  a  grace.  They  are  still  liable 
to  that  slight  taint  of  burlesque  which,  in  our  strange 
world,  attaches  to  the  zealot.  A  saint  should  be  as  dear 
as  the  apple  of  the  eye.  Yet  we  are  tempted  to  smile, 
and  we  flee  from  the  working  to  the  speculative  reformer, 
to  escape  that  same  slight  ridicule.  Alas  for  these  days 


THE    TRANSCENDENTALISM  285 

of  derision  and  criticism  !  We  call  the  Beautiful  the 
highest,  because  it  appears  to  us  the  golden  mean,  es 
caping  the  dowdiness  of  the  good,  and  the  heartlessness 
of  the  true.  They  are  lovers  of  nature  also,  and  find  an 
indemnity  in  the  inviolable  order  of  the  world  for  the 
violated  order  and  grace  of  man. 

There  is,  no  doubt,  a  great  deal  of  well-founded  objec 
tion  to  be  spoken  or  felt  against  the  sayings  and  doings 
of  this  class,  some  of  whose  traits  we  have  selected ;  no 
doubt,  they  will  lay  themselves  open  to  criticism  and  to 
lampoons,  and  as  ridiculous  stories  will  be  to  be  told 
of  them  as  of  any.  There  will  be  cant  and  pretension ; 
there  will  be  subtilty  and  moonshine.  These  persons 
are  of  unequal  strength,  and  do  not  all  prosper.  They 
complain  that  everything  around  them  must  be  denied  ; 
and  if  feeble,  it  takes  all  their  strength  to  deny,  before 
they  can  begin  to  lead  their  own  life.  Grave  seniors 
insist  on  their  respect  to  this  institution,  and  that  usage  ; 
to  an  obsolete  history ;  to  some  vocation,  or  college,  or 
etiquette,  or  beneficiary,  or  charity,  or  morning  or  even 
ing  call,  which  they  resist,  as  what  does  not  concern 
them.  But  it  costs  such  sleepless  nights,  alienations  and 
misgivings,  —  they  have  so  many  moods  about  it ;  — 
these  old  guardians  never  change  their  minds ;  they  have 
but  one  mood  on  the  subject,  namely,  that  Antony  is 
very  perverse,  —  that  it  is  quite  as  much  as  Antony  can 
do,  to  assert  his  rights,  abstain  from  what  he  thinks  fool 
ish,  and  keep  his  temper.  He  cannot  help  the  reaction 
of  this  injustice  in  his  own  mind.  He  is  braced  up  and 
stilted ;  all  freedom  and  flowing  genius,  all  sallies  of  wit 
and  frolic  nature,  are  quite  out  of  the  question  ;  it  is  well 


286  THE    TRANSCENDENTALISM 

if  he  can  keep  from  lying,  injustice,  and  suicide.  Tins  is 
no  time  for  gayety  and  grace.  His  strength  and  spirits 
are  wasted  in  rejection.  But  the  strong  spirits  over 
power  those  around  them  without  effort.  Their  thought 
and  emotion  comes  in  like  a  flood,  quite  withdraws  them 
from  all  notice  of  these  carping  critics  ;  they  surrender 
themselves  with  glad  heart  to  the  heavenly  guide,  and 
only  by  implication  reject  the  clamorous  nonsense  of  the 
hour.  Grave  seniors  talk  to  the  deaf,  — church  and  old 
book  mumble  and  ritualize  to  an  unheeding,  preoccupied 
and  advancing  mind,  and  thus  they  by  happiness  of 
greater  momentum  lose  no  time,  but  take  the  right  road 
at  first. 

But  all  these  of  whom  I  speak  are  not  proficients; 
they  are  novices  ;  they  only  show  the  road  in  which 
man  should  travel,  when  the  soul  has  greater  health  and 
prowess.  Yet  let  them  feel  the  dignity  of  their  charge, 
and  deserve  a  larger  power.  Their  heart  is  the  ark  in 
which  the  fire  is  concealed,  which  shall  burn  in  a  broader 
and  universal  flame.  Let  them  obey  the  Genius  then 
most  when  his  impulse  is  wildest;  then  most  when  he 
seems  to  lead  to  uninhabitable  deserts  of  thought  and 
life;  for  the  path  which  the  hero  travels  alone  is  the 
highway  of  health  and  benefit  to  mankind.  What  is  the 
privilege  and  nobility  of  our  nature,  but  its  persistency, 
through  its  power  to  attach  itself  to  what  is  perma 
nent  ? 

Society  also  has  its  duties  in  reference  to  this  class, 
and  must  behold  them  with  what  charity  it  can.  Pos 
sibly  some  benefit  may  yet  accrue  from  them  to  the 
state.  In  our  Mechanics'  Fair,  there  must  be  not  only 


THE    TRANSCENDENTALISM  287 

bridges,  ploughs,  carpenters'  planes,  and  baking-troughs, 
but  also  some  few  finer  instruments,  — rain-gauges,  ther 
mometers,  and  telescopes  ;  and  in  society,  besides  farm 
ers,  sailors,  and  weavers,  there  must  be  a  few  persons  of 
purer  fire  kept  specially  as.  gauges  and  meters  of  char 
acter;  persons  of  a  fine,  detecting  instinct,  who  note 
the  smallest  accumulations  of  wit  and  feeling  in  the 
bystander.  Perhaps  too  there  might  be  room  for  the 
exciters  and  monitors ;  collectors  of  the  heavenly  spark 
with  power  to  convey  the  electricity  to  others.  Or,  as 
the  storm-tossed  vessel  at  sea  speaks  the  frigate  or  '  line 
packet '  to  learn  its  longitude,  so  it  may  not  be  without 
its  advantage  that  we  should  now  and  then  encounter 
rare  and  gifted  men,  to  compare  the  points  of  our  spir 
itual  compass,  and  verify  our  bearings  from  superior 
chronometers. 

Amidst  the  downward  tendency  and  proneness  of 
things,  when  every  voice  is  raised  for  a  new  road  or  an 
other  statute,  or  a  subscription  of  stock,  for  an  improve 
ment  in  dress,  or  in  dentistry,  for  a  new  house  or  a  larger 
business,  for  a  political  party,  or  the  division  of  an  estate, 
—  will  you  not  tolerate  one  or  two  solitary  voices  in  the 
land,  speaking  for  thoughts  and  principles  not  marketable 
or  perishable  ?  Soon  these  improvements  and  mechani 
cal  inventions  will  be  superseded ;  these  modes  of  living 
lost  out  of  memory ;  these  cities  rotted,  ruined  by  war, 
by  new  inventions,  by  new  seats  of  trade,  or  the  geologic 
changes :  —  all  gone  like  the  shells  which  sprinkle  the 
sea-beach  with  a  white  colony  to-day,  forever  renewed  to 
be  forever  destroyed.  But  the  thoughts  which  these  few 
hermits  strove  to  proclaim  by  silence,  as  well  as  by 


288  THE    TRANSCENDENTALISM 

speech,  not  only  by  what  they  did,  but  by  what  thej 
forbore  to  do,  shall  abide  in  beauty  and  strength  to  reor 
ganize  themselves  in  nature,  to  invest  themselves  anew 
in  other,  perhaps  higher  endowed  and  happier  mixed 
clay  than  ours,  in  fuller  union  with  the  surrounding 
system. 


THE    YOUNG   AMERICAN. 


A  LECTURE  READ  BEFORE  THE  MERCANTILE  LIBRARY  Asso- 
*,  BOSTON,  FEBRUARY  7,  1844. 


THE   YOUNG   AMEEICAN. 


GENTLEMEN  :  — 

It  is  remarkable  that  our  people  have  their  intellectual 
culture  from  one  country,  and  their  duties  from  another. 
This  false  state  of  things  is  newly  in  a  way  to  be  corrected. 
America  is  beginning  to  assert  itself  to  the  senses  and  to 
the  imagination  of  her  children,  and  Europe  is  receding 
in  the  same  degree.  This  their  reaction  on  education 
gives  a  new  importance  to  the  internal  improvements  and 
to  the  politics  of  the  country.  Who  has  not  been  stimu 
lated  to  reflection  by  the  facilities  now  in  progress  of  con 
struction  for  travel  and  the  transportation  of  goods  in  the 
United  States  ? 

This  rage  of  road-building  is  beneficent  for  America, 
where  vast  distance  is  so  main  a  consideration  in  our  do 
mestic  politics  and  trade,  inasmuch  as  the  great  political 
promise  of  the  invention  is  to  hold  the  Union  stanch, 
whose  days  seemed  already  numbered  by  the  mere  incon 
venience  of  transporting  representatives,  judges,  and  offi 
cers  across  such  tedious  distances  of  land  and  water. 
Not  only  is  distance  annihilated,  but  when,  as  now,  the 
locomotive  and  the  steamboat,  like  enormous  shuttles, 
shoot  every  day  across  the  thousand  various  threads  of 
national  descent  and  employment,  and  bind  them  fast  in 
one  web,  an  hourly  assimilation  goes  forward,  and  there 


J 


292  THE     YOUNG    AMERICAN. 

is  no  danger  that  local  peculiarities  and  hostilities  should 
be  preserved. 

1.  But  I  hasten  to  speak  of  the  utility  of  these  im 
provements  in  creating  an  American  sentiment.  An  un 
looked-for  consequence  of  the  railroad  is  the  increased 
acquaintance  it  has  given  the  American  people  with  the 
boundless  resources  of  their  own  soil.  If  this  invention 
has  reduced  England  to  a  third  of  its  size,  by  bringing 
people  so  much  nearer,  in  this  country  it  has  given  a  new " 
celerity  to  time,  or  anticipated  by  fifty  years  the  planting 
of  tracts  of  land,  the  choice  of  water-privileges,  the  work 
ing  of  mines,  and  other  natural  advantages.  Railroad 
iron  is  a  magician's  rod,  in  its  power  to  evoke  the  sleep 
ing  energies  of  land  and  water. 

The  railroad  is  but  one  arrow  in  our  quiver,  though  it 
has  great  value  as  a  sort  of  yard-stick,  and  surveyor's 
line.  The  bountiful  continent  is  ours,  state  on  state,  and 
territory  on  territory,  to  the  waves  of  the  Pacific  sea ; 

"  Our  garden  is  the  immeasurable  earth, 
The  heaven's  blue  pillars  are  Medea's  house." 

The  task  of  surveying,  planting,  and  building  upon  this 
immense  tract  requires  an  education  and  r.  sentiment 
commensurate  thereto.  A  consciousness  of  this  fact  is 
beginning  to  take  the  place  of  the  purely  trading  spirit 
and  education  which  sprang  up  whilst  all  the  popula 
tion  lived  on  the  fringe  of  sea-coast.  And  even  on  the 
coast  prudent  men  have  begun  to  see  that  every  Amer 
ican  should  oe  educated  with  a  view  to  the  values  of 
land.  The  arts  of  engineering  and  of  architecture  are 
studied;  scientific  agriculture  is  an  object  cf  growing 


THE    YOUNG    AMEEICAN.  293 

attention;  the  mineral  riches  are  explored,  limestone, 
coal,  slate,  and  iron;  and  the  value  of  timber-lands  is 
enhanced. 

Columbus  alleged  as  a  reason  for  seeking  a  continent 
in  the  West,  that  the  harmony  of  nature  required  a  great 
tract  of  land  in  the  western  hemisphere,  to  balance  the 
known  extent  of  land  in  the  eastern ;  and  it  now  appears 
that  we  must  estimate  the  native  values  of  this  broad 
region  to  redress  the  balance  of  our  own  judgments,  and 
appreciate  the  advantages  opened  to  the  human  race  in 
this  country,  which  is  our  fortunate  home.  The  land  is^ 
the  appointed  remedy  for  whatever  is  false  and  fantastic 
in  our  culture.  The  continent  we  inhabit  is  to  be  physic 
and  food  for  our  mind,  as  well  as  our  body.  The  land, 
with  its  tranquillizing,  sanative  influences,  is  to  repair  the 
errors  of  a  scholastic  and  traditional  education,  and  bring 
us  into  just  relations  with  men  and  things. 

The  habit  of  living  in  the  presence  of  these  invitations 
of  natural  wealth  is  not  inoperative ;  and  this  habit,  com 
bined  with  the  moral  sentiment  which,  in  the  recent  years, 
has  interrogated  every  institution,  usage,  and  law,  has 
naturally  given  a  strong  direction  to  the  wishes  and  aims 
of  active  young  men  to  withdraw  from  cities,  and  culti 
vate  the  soil.  This  inclination  has  appeared  in  the  most 
unlooked-for  quarters,  in  men  supposed  to  be  absorbed 
in  business,  and  in  those  connected  with  the  liberal  pro 
fessions.  And  since  the  walks  of  trade  were  crowded, 
whilst  that  of  agriculture  cannot  easily  be,  inasmuch  as 
the  farmer  who  is  not  wanted  by  others  can  yet  grow 
his  own  bread,  whilst  the  manufacturer  or  the  trader  who 
is  not  wanted  cannot,  —  this  seemed  a  happy  tendency. 


294  THE     YOUNG    AMERICAN. 

For,  beside  all  the  moral  benefit  which  we  may  expect 
from  the  farmer's  profession,  when  a  man  enters  it  con 
siderately,  this  promised  the  conquering  of  the  soil, 
plenty,  and  beyond  this,  the  adorning  of  the  country 
with  every  advantage  and  ornament  which  labor,  ingenu 
ity,  and  affection  for  a  man's  home  could  suggest. 

Meantime,  with  cheap  land,  and  the  pacific  disposition 
of  the  people,  everything  invites  to  the  arts  of  agricul 
ture,  of  gardening,  and  domestic  architecture.  Public 
gardens,  on  the  scale  of  such  plantations  in  Europe  and 
Asia,  are  now  unknown  to  us.  There  is  no  feature  of 
the  old  countries  that  strikes  an  American  with  more 
agreeable  surprise  than  the  beautiful  gardens  of  Europe ; 
such  as  the  Boboli  in  Florence,  the  Villa  Borghese  in 
Rome,  the  Villa  d'Este  in  Tivoli,  the  gardens  at  Munich, 
and  at  Erankfort  on  the  Main:  works  easily  imitated 
here,  and  which  might  well  make  the  land  dear  to  the 
citizen,  and  inflame  patriotism.  It  is  the  fine  art  which 
is  left  for  us,  now  that  sculpture,  painting,  and  religious 
and  civil  architecture  have  become  effete,  and  have 
passed  into  second  childhood.  We  have  twenty  degrees 
of  latitude  wherein  to  choose  a  seat,  and  the  new  modes 
of  travelling  enlarge  the  opportunity  of  selection,  by 
making  it  easy  to  cultivate  very  distant  tracts,  and  yet 
remain  in  strict  intercourse  with  the  centres  of  trade  and 
.population.  And  the  whole  force  of  all  the  arts  goes  to 
*  facilitate  the  decoration  of  lands  and  dwellings.  A  gar 
den  has  this  advantage,  that  it  makes  it  indifferent  where 
you  live.  A  well-laid  garden  makes  the  face  of  the  coun 
try  of  no  account;  let  that  be  low  or  high,  grand  or 
mean,  you  have  made  a  beautiful  abode  worthy  of  man. 


THE    YOUNG    AMERICAN.  295 

If  the  landscape  is  pleasing,  the  garden  shows  it,  —  if 
tame,  it  excludes  it.  A  little  grove,  which  any  farmer 
can  find,  or  cause  to  grow  near  his  house,  will,  in  a  few 
years,  make  cataracts  and  chains  of  mountains  quite 
unnecessary  to  his  scenery  ;  and  he  is  so  contented  with 
his  alleys,  woodlands,  orchards,  and  river,  that  Niagara, 
and  the  Notch  of  the  White  Hills,  and  Nantasket  Beach 
are  superfluities.  And  yet  the  selection  of  a  fit  house- 
lot  has  the  same  advantage  over  an  indifferent  one,  as 
the  selection  to  a  given  employment  of  a  man  who  has  a 
genius  for  that  work.  In  the  last  case,  the  culture  of 
years  will  never  make  the  most  painstaking  apprentice 
his  equal :  no  more  will  gardening  give  the  advantage  of 
a  happy  site  to  a  house  in  a  hole  or  on  a  pinnacle.  In 
America,  we  have  hitherto  little  to  boast  in  this  kind. 
The  cities  drain  the  country  of  the  best  part  of  its  popu 
lation  :  the  flower  of  the  youth,  of  both  sexes,  goes  into 
the  towns,  and  the  country  is  cultivated  by  a  so  much 
inferior  class.  The  land  —  travel  a  whole  day  together 
—  looks  poverty-stricken,  and  the  buildings  plain  and 
poor.  In  Europe,  where  society  has  an  aristocratic 
structure,  the  land  is  full  of  men  of  the  best  stock,  and 
the  best  culture,  whose  interest  and  pride  it  is  to  remain 
half  the  year  on  their  estates,  and  to  fill  them  with  every 
convenience  and  ornament.  Of  course,  these  make  model 
farms,  and  model  architecture,  and  are  a  constant  educa 
tion  to  the  eye  of  the  surrounding  population.  Whatever 
events  in  progress  shall  go  to  disgust  men  with  cities, 
and  infuse  into  them  the  passion  for  country  life,  and 
country  pleasures,  will  render  a  service  to  the  whole  face 
of  this  continent,  and  will  further  the  most  poetic  of  all  * 


296  THE     YOUNG     AMERICAN. 

1  the  occupations  of  real  life,  the  bringing  out  by  art  the 
native  but  hidden  graces  of  the  landscape. 

I  look  on  such  improvements,  also,  as  directly  tending 
io  endear  the  land  to  the  inhabitant.  Any  relation  to 
/the  land,  the  habit  of  tilling  it,  or  mining  it,  or  even 
*  hunting  on  it,  generates  the  feeling  of  patriotism.  He 
who  keeps  shop  on  it,  or  he  who  merely  uses  it  as  a  sup 
port  to  his  desk  and  ledger,  or  to  his  manufactory,  values 
it  less.  The  vast  majority  of  the  people  of  this  country 
live  by  the  land,  and  carry  its  quality  in  their  manners 
and  opinions.  We  in  the  Atlantic  States,  by  position, 
have  been  commercial,  and  have,  as  I  said,  imbibed 
easily  an  European  culture.  Luckily  for  us,  now  that 
steam  has  narrowed  the  Atlantic  to  a  strait,  the  nervous, 
I  rocky  West  is  intruding  a  new  and  continental  element 
J  into  the  national  mind,  and  we  shall  yet  have  an  Amer 
ican  genius.  How  much  better  when  the  whole  land  is 
a  garden,  and  the  people  have  grown  up  in  the  bowers  of 
a  paradise.  Without  looking,  then,  to  those  extraordi 
nary  social  influences  which  are  now  acting  in  precisely 
this  direction,  but  only  at  what  is  inevitably  doing 
around  us,  I  think  we  must  regard  the  land  as  a  com 
manding  and  increasing  power  on  the  citizen,  the  sana 
tive  and  Americanizing  influence,  which  promises  to  dis 
close  new  virtues  for  ages  to  come. 

2.  In  the  second  place,  the  uprise  and  culmination  of 
/  the  new  and  anti-feudal  power  of  Commerce  is  the  politi 
cal  fact  of  most  significance  to  the  American  at  this 
hour. 

We  cannot  look  on  the  freedom  of  this  country,  in  con 
nection  with  its  youth,  without  a  presentiment  that  here 


THE     YOUNG    AMERICAN.  297 

shall  laws  and  institutions  exist  on  some  scale  of  propor 
tion  to  the  majesty  of  nature.  To  men  legislating  for  the 
area  betwixt  the  two  oceans,  betwixt  the  snows  and  the 
tropics,  somewhat  of  the  grandeur  of  nature  will  infuse 
itself  into  the  code.  A  heterogeneous  population  crowd 
ing  on  all  ships  from  all  corners  of  the  world  to  the  great 
gates  of  North  America,  namely,  Boston,  New  York,  and 
New  Orleans,  and  thence  proceeding  inward  to  the  prairie 
and  the  mountains,  and  quickly  contributing  their  private 
thought  to  the  public  opinion,  their  toll  to  the  treasury, 
and  their  vote  to  the  election,  it  cannot  be  doubted  that 
the  legislation  of  this  country  should  become  more  cath-  ^ 
olic  and  cosmopolitan  than  that  of  any  other.  It  seems 
so  easy  for  America  to  inspire  and  express  the  most  ex 
pansive  and  humane  spirit;  new-born,  free,  healthful, 
strong,  the  land  of  the  laborer,  of  the  democrat,  of  the 
philanthropist,  of  the  believer,  of  the  saint,  she  should 
speak  for  the  human  race.  It  is  the  country  of  the  Fu-*X 
ture.  From  Washington,  proverbially  "  the  city  of  mag 
nificent  distances,"  through  all  its  cities,  States,  and  Terri 
tories,  it  is  a  country  of  beginnings,  of  projects,  of  designs, 
and  expectations. 

Gentlemen,  there  is  a  sublime  and  friendly  Destiny  by 
which  the  human  race  is  guided  —  the  race  never  dying, 
the  individual  never  spared  —  to  results  affecting  masses 
and  ages.  Men  are  narrow  and  selfish,  but  the  Genius 
or  Destiny  is  not  narrow,  but  beneficent.  It  is  not  dis 
covered  in  their  calculated  and  voluntary  activity,  but  in 
what  befalls,  with  or  without  their  design.  Only  what  is  , 
inevitable  interests  us,  and  it  turns  out  that  love  and 
good  are  inevitable,  and  in  the  course  of  things.  That 
13* 


298  THE     YOUNG    AMERICAN. 

Genius  has  infused  itself  into  nature.  It  indicates  itseft 
by  a  small  excess  of  good,  a  small  balance  in  brute  facts 
always  favorable  to  the  side  of  reason.  All  the  facts  in 
any  part  of  nature  shall  be  tabulated,  and  the  results 
shall  indicate  the  same  security  and  benefit ;  so  slight  as 
to  be  hardly  observable,  and  yet  it  is  there.  The  sphere 
is  flattened  at  the  poles,  and  swelled  at  the  equator;  a 
form  flowing  necessarily  from  the  fluid  state,  yet  the  form, 
the  mathematician  assures  us,  required  'to  prevent  the 
protuberances  of  the  continent,  or  even  of  lesser  moun 
tains  cast  up  at  any  time  by  earthquakes,  from  continually 
deranging  the  axis  of  the  earth.  The  census  of  the  popu 
lation  is  found  to  keep  an  invariable  equality  in  the  sexes, 
with  a  trifling  predominance  in  favor  of  the  male,  as  if  to 
counterbalance  the  necessarily  increased  exposure  of  male 
life  in  war,  navigation,  and  other  accidents.  Remark  the 
unceasing  effort  throughout  nature  at  somewhat  better 
than  the  actual  creatures  :  amelioration  in  nature,  which 
alone  permits  and  authorizes  amelioration  in  mankind. 
The  population  of  the  world  is  a  conditional  population ; 
these  are  not  the  best,  but  the  best  that  could  live  in  the 
existing  state  of  soils,  gases,  animals,  and  morals:  the 
best  that  could  yet  live ;  there  shall  be  a  better,  please 
God.  This  Genius,  or  Destiny,  is  of  the  sternest  adminis 
tration,  though  rumors  exist  of  its  secret  tenderness.  It 
may  be  styled  a  cruel  kindness,  serving  the  whole  even 
to  the  ruin  of  the  member ;  a  terrible  communist,  reserv 
ing  all  profits  to  the  community,  without  dividend  to  in 
dividuals.  Its  law  is,  you  shall  have  everything  as  a 
member,  nothing  to  yourself.  For  Nature  is  the  noblest 
engineer,  yet  uses  a  grinding  economy,  working  up  all 


THE    YOUNG    AMERICAN.  299 

that  is  wasted  to-day  into  to-morrow's  creation ;  not  a 
superfluous  grain  of  sand,  for  all  the  ostentation  she 
makes  of  expense  and  public  works.  It  is  because 
Nature  thus  saves  and  uses,  laboring  for  the  general, 
that  we  poor  particulars  are  so  crushed  and  straitened, 
and  find  it  so  hard  to  live.  She  flung  us  out  in  her 
plenty,  but  we  cannot  shed  a  hair,  or  a  paring  of  a  nail, 
but  instantly  she  snatches  at  the  shred,  and  appropriates 
it  to  the  general  stock.  Our  condition  is  like  that  of  the 
poor  wolves :  if  one  of  the  flock  wound  himself,  or  so 
much  as  limp,  the  rest  eat  him  up  incontinently. 

That  serene  Power  interposes  the  check  upon  the  ca 
prices  and  officiousness  of  our  wills.  Its  charity  is  not 
our  charity.  One  of  its  agents  is  our  will,  but  that  which 
expresses  itself  in  our  will  is  stronger  than  our  will.  We 
are  very  forward  to  help  it,  but  it  will  not  be  accelerated. 
It  resists  our  meddling,  eleemosynary  contrivances.  We 
devise  sumptuary  and  relief  laws,  but  the  principle  of 
population  is  always  reducing  wages  to  the  lowest  pit 
tance  on  which  human  life  can  be  sustained.  We  legis 
late  against  forestalling  and  monopoly ;  we  would  have  a 
common  granary  for  the  poor ;  but  the  selfishness  which 
hoards  the  corn  for  high  prices,  is  the  preventive  of  fam 
ine  ;  and  the  law  of  self-preservation  is  surer  policy  than 
any  legislation  can  be.  We  concoct  eleemosynary  sys 
tems,  and  it  turns  out  that  our  charity  increases  pauper 
ism.  We  inflate  our  paper  currency,  we  repair  com 
merce  with  unlimited  credit,  and  are  presently  visited 
with  unlimited  bankruptcy. 

It  is  easy  to  see  that  the  existing  generation  are  con 
spiring  with  a  beneficence,  which,  in  its  working  fot 


300  THE    YOUNG     AMERICAN. 

coming  generations,  sacrifices   the   passing  one,  which 
infatuates  the  most  selfish  men  to  act  against  their  pri 
vate  interest  for  the  public  welfare.     We  build  railroads, 
we  know  not  for  what  or  for  whom  ;  but  one  thing  is 
/certain,  that  we  who  build  will  receive  the  very  smallest 
v/  share  of  benefit.     Benefit  will  accrue  ;  they  are  essential 
to  the  country,  but  that  will  be  felt  not  until  we  are  no 
longer  countrymen.     We  do  the  like  in  all  matters :  — 

"  Man's  heart  the  Almighty  to  the  Future  set 
By  secret  and  inviolable  springs." 

We  plant  trees,  we  build  stone  houses,  we  redeem  the 
waste,  we  make  prospective  laws,  we  found  colleges  and 
hospitals,  for  remote  generations.  We  should  be  morti 
fied  to  learn  that  the  little  benefit  we  chanced  in  our  own 
persons  to  receive  was  the  utmost  they  would  yield. 
*  The  history  of  commerce  is  the  record  of  this  bene 
ficent  tendency.  The  patriarchal  form  of  government 
readily  becomes  despotic,  as  each  person  may  see  in  his 
own  family.  Fathers  wish  to  be  fathers  of  the  minds  of 
their  children,  and  behold  with  impatience  a  new  char 
acter  and  way  of  thinking  presuming  to  show  itself  in 
their  own  son  or  daughter.  This  feeling,  which  all  their 
love  and  pride  in  the  powers  of  their  children  cannot 
subdue,  becomes  petulance  and  tyranny  when  the  head 
of  the  clan,  the  emperor  of  an  empire,  deals  with  the 
same  difference  of  opinion  in  his  subjects.  Difference  of 
opinion  is  the  one  crime  which  kings  never  forgive.  An 
empire  is  an  immense  egotism.  "  I  am  the  State,"  said 
the  French  Louis.  When  a  French  ambassador  men 
tioned  to  Paul  of  Russia,  that  a  man  of  consequence  ic 


THE     YOUNG    AMERICAN.  301 

St.  Petersburgh  was  interesting  himself  in  some  matter, 
the  Czar  interrupted  him :  "  There  is  no  man  of  conse 
quence  in  this  empire,  but  he  with  whom  I  am  actually 
speaking;  and  so  long  only  as  I  am  speaking  to  him, 
is  he  of  any  consequence."  And  the  emperor  Nicholas 
is  reported  to  have  said  to  his  council:  "The  age  is 
embarrassed  with  new  opinions  ;  rely  on  me,  gentlemen, 
I  shall  oppose  an  iron  will  to  the  progress  of  liberal  opin 
ions." 

It  is  easy  to  see  that  this  patriarchal  or  family  manage 
ment  gets  to  be  rather  troublesome  to  all  but  the  papa ; 
the  sceptre  comes  to  be  a  crow-bar.  And  this  unpleasant 
egotism,  Feudalism  opposes,  and  finally  destroys.  The 
king  is  compelled  to  call  in  the  aid  of  his  brothers  and 
cousins,  and  remote  relations,  to  help  him  keep  his  over 
grown  house  in  order ;  and  this  club  of  noblemen  always 
come  at  last  to  have  a  will  of  their  own ;  they  combine 
to  brave  the  sovereign,  and  call  in  the  aid  of  the  people. 
Each  chief  attaches  as  many  followers  as  he  can,  by 
kindness,  maintenance,  and  gifts ;  and  as  long  as  war 
lasts,  the  nobles,  who  must  be  soldiers,  rule  very  well. 
But  when  peace  comes,  the  nobles  prove  very  whimsical 
and  uncomfortable  masters ;  their  frolics  turn  out  to  be 
insulting  and  degrading  to  the  commoner.  Feudalism 
grew  to  be  a  bandit  and  brigand. 

Meantime  Trade  had  begun  to  appear  :  Trade,  a  plant 
which  grows  wherever  there  is  peace,  as  soon  as  there  is 
peace,  and  as  long  as  there  is  peace.  The  luxury  and 
necessity  of  the  noble  fostered  it.  And  as  quickly  as 
men  go  to  foreign  parts,  in  ships  or  caravans,  a  new 
order  of  things  springs  up ;  new  command  takes  place, 


J 


302  THE    YOUNG     AMEEICAN. 

new  servants  and  new  masters.  Their  information,  their 
wealth,  their  correspondence,  have  made  them  quite 
other  men  than  left  their  native  shore.  They  are  nobles 
now,  and  by  another  patent  than  the  king's.  Feudalism 
had  been  good,  had  broken  the  power  of  the  kings,  and 
had  some  good  traits  of  its  own ;  but  it  had  grown  mis 
chievous,  it  was  time  for  it  to  die,  and,  as  they  say  of 
dying  people,  all  its  faults  came  out.  Trade  was  the 
strong  man  that  broke  it  down,  and  raised  a  new  and 
unknown  power  in  its  place.  It  is  a  new  agent  in  the 
world,  and  one  of  great  function  ;  it  is  a  very  intellectual 
force.  This  displaces  physical  strength,  and  installs 
computation,  combination,  information,  science,  in  its 
room.  It  calls  out  all  force  of  a  certahi  kind  that  slum 
bered  in  the  former  dynasties.  It  is  now  in  the  midst  of 
its  career.  Feudalism  is  not  ended  yet.  Our  govern 
ments  still  partake  largely  of  that  element.  Trade  goes 
to  make  the  governments  insignificant,  and  to  bring 
every  kind  of  faculty  of  every  individual  that  can  in  any 
manner  serve  any  person,  on  sale.  Instead  of  a  huge 
Army  and  Navy,  and  Executive  Departments,  it  converts 
Government  into  an  Intelligence-Office,  where  every  man 
may  find  what  he  wishes  to  buy,  and  expose  what  he 
has  to  sell,  not  only  produce  and  manufactures,  but  art, 
skill,  and  intellectual  and  moral  values.  This  is  the 
good  and  this  the  evil  of  trade,  that  it  would  put  every 
thing  into  market,  talent,  beauty,  virtue,  and  man  him 
self. 

The  philosopher  and  lover  of  man  have  much  harm  to 
say  of  trade  ;  but  the  historian  will  see  that  trade  was 
the  principle  of  Liberty ;  that  trade  planted  America  and 


THE    YOUNG    AMERICAN.  303 

destroyed  Feudalism ;  that  it  makes  peace  and  keeps 
peace,  and  it  will  abolish  slavery.  We  complain  of  its 
oppression  of  the  poor,  and  of  its  building  up  a  new  aris 
tocracy  on  the  ruins  of  the  aristocracy  it  destroyed.  But 
the  aristocracy  of  trade  has  no  permanence,  is  not  en 
tailed,  was  the  result  of  toil  and  talent,  the  result  o 
merit  of  some  kind,  and  is  continually  falling,  like  the 
waves  of  the  sea,  before  new  claims  of  the  same  sort. 
Trade  is  an  instrument  in  the  hands  of  that  friendly 
Power  which  works  for  us  in  our  own  despite.  We 
design  it  thus  and  thus  ;  it  turns  out  otherwise  and  far 
better.  This  beneficent  tendency,  omnipotent  without 
violence,  exists  and  works.  Every  line  of  history  in 
spires  a  confidence  that  we  shall  not  go  far  wrong  ;  that 
things  mend.  That  is  the  moral  of  all  we  learn,  that  it 
warrants  Hope,  the  prolific  mother  of  reforms.  Our  part 
is  plainly  not  to  throw  ourselves  across  the  track,  to 
block  improvement,  and  sit  till  we  are  stone,  but  to 
watch  the  uprise  of  successive  mornings,  and  to  conspire 
with  the  new  works  of  new  days.  Government  lias  been 
a  fossil ;  it  should  be  a  plant.  I  conceive  that  the  office 
of  statute  law  should  be  to  express,  and  not  to  impede 
the  mind  of  mankind.  New  thoughts,  new  things. 
Trade  was  one  instrument,  but  Trade  is  also  but  for  a 
time,  and  must  give  way  to  somewhat  broader  and  bet 
ter,  whose  signs  are  already  dawning  in  the  sky. 

3.  I  pass  to  speak  of  the  signs  of  that  which  is  the 
sequel  of  trade. 

In  consequence  of  the  revolution  in  the  state  of  society 
wrought  by  trade,  government  in  our  times  is  beginning 
to  wear  a  clumsy  and  cumbrous  appearance.  We  have 


304  THE    YOUNG    AMERICAN. 

already  seen  our  way  to  shorter  methods.  The  time  is 
full  of  good  sigus.  Some  of  them  shall  ripen  to  fruit. 
All  this  beneficent  socialism  is  a  friendly  omen,  and  the 
swelling  cry  of  voices  for  the  education  of  the  people, 

/indicates  that  Government  has  other  offices  than  those  of 
"  banker  and  executioner.  Witness  the  new  movements 
in  the  civilized  world,  the  Communism  of  France,  Ger 
many,  and  Switzerland ;  the  Trades'  Unions  ;  the  Eng 
lish  League  against  the  Corn  Laws ;  and  the  whole 
Industrial  Statistics,  so  called.  In  Paris,  the  blouse, 
the  badge  of  the  operative,  has  begun  to  make  its  ap 
pearance  in  the  saloons.  Witness,  too,  the  spectacle  of 
three  Communities  which  have  within  a  very  short  time 

-sprung  up  within  this  Commonwealth,  besides  several 
others  undertaken  by  citizens  of  Massachusetts  within 
the  territory  of  other  States.  These  proceeded  from  a 
variety  of  motives,  from  an  impatience  of  many  usages  in 
common  life,  from  a  wish  for  greater  freedom  than  the 
manners  and  opinions  of  society  permitted,  but  in  great 
part  from  a  feeling  that  the  true  offices  of  the  State,  the 
State  had  let  fall  to  the  ground  ;  that  in  the  scramble  of 

f  parties  for  the  public  purse,  the  main  duties  of  govern 
ment  were  omitted,  —  the  duty  to  instruct  the  ignorant, 
to  supply  the  poor  with  work  and  with  good  guidance. 
These  communists  preferred  the  agricultural  life  as  the 
most  favorable  condition  for  human  culture  ;  but  they 
thought  that  the  farm,  as  we  manage  it,  did  not  satisfy 
the  right  ambition  of  man.  The  farmer,  after  sacrificing 
pleasure,  taste,  freedom,  thought,  love,  to  his  work,  turns 
out  often  a  bankrupt,  like  the  merchant.  This  result 
might  well  seem  astounding.  All  this  drudgery,  from 


THE    YOUNG    AMERICAN.  305 

cock-crowing  to  starlight,  for  all  these  years,  to  end  in 
mortgages  and  the  auctioneer's  flag,  and  removing  from 
bad  to  worse.  It  is  time  to  have  the  thing  looked  into, 
and  with  a  sifting  criticism  ascertained  who  is  the  fool. 
It  seemed  a  great  deal  worse,  because  the  farmer  is  living 
in  the  same  town  with  men  who  pretend  to  know  exactly 
what  he  wants.  On  one  side,  is  agricultural  chemistry, 
coolly  exposing  the  nonsense  of  our  spendthrift  agricul 
ture  and  ruinous  expense  of  manures,  and  offering,  by 
means  of  a  teaspoonful  of  artificial  guano,  to  turn  a 
sandbank  into  corn ;  and,  on  the  other,  the  farmer,  not 
only  eager  for  the  information,  but  with  bad  crops  and 
in  debt  and  bankruptcy,  for  want  of  it.  Here  are  Etzlers 
and  mechanical  projectors,  who,  with  the  Fourierists, 
undoubtingly  affirm  that  the  smallest  union  would  make 
every  man  rich ;  and,  on  the  other  side,  a  multitude  of 
poor  men  and  women  seeking  work,  and  who  cannot  find 
enough  to  pay  their  board.  The  science  is  confident, 
and  surely  the  poverty  is  real.  If  any  means  could  be 
found  to  bring  these  two  together ! 

This  was  one  design  of  the  projectors  of  the  Associa 
tions  which  are  now  making  their  first  feeble  experiments. 
They  were  founded  in  love,  and  in  labor.  They  pro 
posed,  as  you  know,  that  all  men  should  take  a  part  in 
the  manual  toil,  and  proposed  to  amend  the  condition 
of  men,  by  substituting  harmonious  for  hostile  industry. 
It  was  a  noble  thought  of  Fourier,  which  gives  a  favor 
able  idea  of  his  system,  to  distinguish  in  his  Phalanx  a 
class  as  the  Sacred  Baud,  by  whom  whatever  duties  were 
disagreeable,  and  likely  to  be  omitted,  were  to  be  as 
sumed. 


306  THE    YOUNG    AMERICAN. 

At  least,  an  economical  success  seemed  certain  for  the 
enterprise,  and  that  agricultural  association  must,  sooner 
or  later,  fix  the  price  of  bread,  and  drive  single  farmers 
into  association,  in  self-defence  ;  as  the  great  commercial 
and  manufacturing  companies  had  already  done.  The 
Community  is  only  the  continuation  of  the  same  move 
ment  which  made  the  joint-stock  companies  for  manufac 
tures,  mining,  insurance,  banking,  and  so  forth.  It  has 
turned  out  cheaper  to  make  calico  by  companies ;  and  it 
is  proposed  to  plant  corn  and  to  bake  bread  by  com 
panies. 

Undoubtedly,  abundant  mistakes  will  be  made  by 
these  first  adventurers,  which  will  draw  ridicule  on  their 
schemes.  I  think,  for  example,  that  they  exaggerate  the 
importance  of  a  favorite  project  of  theirs,  that  of  paying 
talent  and  labor  at  one  rate,  paying  all  sorts  of  service  at 
one  rate,  say  ten  cents  the  hour.  They  have  paid  it  so  ; 
but  not  an  instant  would  a  dime  remain  a  dime.  In  one 
hand  it  became  an  eagle  as  it  fell,  and  in  another  hand  a 
copper  cent.  For  the  whole  value  of  the  dime  is  in 
knowing  what  to  do  with  it.  One  man  buys  with  it  a 
land-title  of  an  Indian,  and  makes  his  posterity  princes ; 
or  buys  corn  enough  to  feed  the  world ;  or  pen,  ink,  and 
paper,  or  a  painter's  brush,  by  which  he  can  communi 
cate  himself  to  the  human  race  as  if  he  were  fire  ;  and 
the  other  buys  barley  candy.  Money  is  of  no  value  ;  it 
cannot  spend  itself.  All  depends  on  the  skill  of  the 
spender.  Whether,  too,  the  objection  almost  universally 
felt  by  such  women  in  the  community  as  were  mothers, 
to  an  associate  life,  to  a  common  table,  and  a  common 
nursery,  etc.,  setting  a  higher  value  on  the  private  family 


THE     YOUNG     AMERICAN.  307 

with  poverty,  than  on  an  association  with  wealth,  will 
not  prove  insuperable,  remains  to  be  determined. 

But  the  Communities  aimed  at  a  higher  success  in 
securing  to  all  their  members  an  equal  and  thorough 
education.  And  on  the  whole,  one  may  say,  that  aims 
so  generous,  and  so  forced  on  them  by  the  times,  will  not 
be  relinquished,  even  if  these  attempts  fail,  but  will  be 
prosecuted  until  they  succeed. 

This  is  the  value  of  the  Communities  ;  not  what  they 
have  done,  but  the  revolution  which  they  indicate  as  on 
the  way.  Yes,  government  must  educate  the  poor  man. 
Look  across  the  country  from  any  hillside  around  us,  and 
the  landscape  seems  to  crave  government.  The  actual  ^ 
differences  of  men  must  be  acknowledged,  and  met  with 
love  and  wisdom.  These  rising  grounds  which  command 
the  champaign  below,  seem  to  ask  for  lords,  true  lords, 
land-lords,  who  understand  the  land  and  its  uses,  and 
the  applicabilities  of  men,  and  whose  government  would 
be  what  it  should,  namely,  mediation  between  want  and 
supply.  How  gladly  would  each  citizen  pay  a  commis-^ 
sion  for  the  support  and  continuation  of  good  guidance. 
None  should  be  a  governor  who  has  not  a  talent  for 
governing.  Now  many  people  have  a  native  skill  for 
carving  out  business  for  many  hands  ;  a  genius  for  the 
disposition  of  affairs  ;  and  are  never  happier  than  when 
difficult  practical  questions,  which  embarrass  other  men, 
are  to  be  solved.  All  lies  in  light  before  them  ;  they 
are  in  their  element.  Could  any  means  be  contrived  to 
appoint  only  these !  There  really  seems  a  progress  to 
wards  such  a  state  of  things,  in  which  this  work  shall  be 
done  by  these  natural  workmen  ;  and  this,  not  certainly 


308  THE    YOUNG    AMERICAN. 

through  any  increased  discretion  shown  by  the  citizens 
at  elections,  but  by  the  gradual  contempt  into  which 
official  government  falls,  and  the  increasing  disposition  of 
private  adventurers  to  assume  its  fallen  functions.  Tims 
the  national  Post  Office  is  likely  to  go  into  disuse  before 
the  private  telegraph  and  the  express  companies.  The 
currency  threatens  to  fall  entirely  into  private  hands. 
Justice  is  continually  administered  more  and  more  by 
private  reference,  and  not  by  litigation.  We  have  feu 
dal  governments  in  a  commercial  age.  It  would  be  but 
an  easy  extension  of  our  commercial  system,  to  pay  a 
private  emperor  a  fee  for  services,  as  we  pay  an  archi 
tect,  an  engineer,  or  a  lawyer.  If  any  man  has  a  talent 
for  righting  wrong,  for  administering  difficult  affairs,  for 
counselling  poor  farmers  how  to  turn  their  estates  to 
good  husbandry,  for  combining  a  hundred  private  enter 
prises  to  a  general  benefit,  let  him  in  the  county-town, 
or  in  Court  Street,  put  up  his  sign-board,  Mr.  Smith, 
Governor,  Mr.  Johnson,  Working  king. 

How  can  our  young  men  complain  of  the  poverty  of 
things  in  New  England,  and  not  feel  that  poverty  as  a 
demand  on  their  charity  to  make  New  England  rich  ? 
Where  is  he  who  seeing  a  thousand  men  useless  and 
unhappy,  and  making  the  whole  region  forlorn  by  their 
inaction,  and  conscious  himself  of  possessing  the  faculty 
they  want,  does  not  hear  his  call  to  go  and  be  their 
king? 

We  must  have  kings,  and  we  must  have  nobles.  Na 
ture  provides  such  in  every  society,  —  only  let  us  have 
the  real  instead  of  the  titular.  Let  us  have  our  leading 
and  our  inspiration  from  the  best.  In  every  society 


THE     YOUNG    AMERICAN.  309 

some  men  are  born  to  rule,  and  some  to  advise.  Let 
the  powers  be  well  directed,  directed  by  love,  and  they 
would  everywhere  be  greeted  with  joy  and  honor.  The 
chief  is  the  chief  all  the  world  over,  only  not  his  cap  and 
his  plume.  It  is  only  their  dislike  of  the  pretender, 
which  makes  men  sometimes  unjust  to  the  accomplished 
man.  If  society  were  transparent,  the  noble  would  every 
where  be  gladly  received  and  accredited,  and  would  not 
be  asked  for  his  day's  work,  but  would  be  felt  as  benefit, 
inasmuch  as  he  was  noble.  That  were  his  duty  and  stint, 
—  to  keep  himself  pure  and  purifying,  the  leaven  of  his 
nation.  I  think  I  see  place  and  duties  for  a  nobleman 
in  every  society  ;  but  it  is  not  to  drink  wine  and  ride  in 
a  fine  coach,  but  to  guide  and  adorn  life  for  the  multi 
tude  by  forethought,  by  elegant  studies,  by  perseverance, 
self-devotion,  and  the  remembrance  of  the  humble  old 
friend,  by  making  his  life  secretly  beautiful. 

I  call  upon  you,  young  men,  to  obey  your  heart,  and 
be  the  nobility  of  this  land.  In  every  age  of  the  world, 
there  has  been  a  leading  nation,  one  of  a  more  generous 
sentiment,  whose  eminent  citizens  were  willing  to  stand 
for  the  interests  of  general  justice  and  humanity,  at  the 
risk  of  being  called,  by  the  men  of  the  moment,  chimeri 
cal  and  fantastic.  Which  should  be  that  nation  but  these. 
States  ?  Which  should  lead  that  movement,  if  not  New 
England  ?  Who  should  lead  the  leaders,  but  the  Young 
American  ?  The  people,  and  the  world,  are  now  suffer 
ing  from  the  want  of  religion  and  honor  in  its  public 
mind.  In  America,  out  of  doors  all  seems  a  market ;  in 
doors,  an  air-tight  stove  of  conventionalism.  Everybody 
who  comes  into  our  houses  savors  of  these  habits ;  the 


310  THE    YOUNG     AMERICAN. 

men,  of  the  market ;  the  women,  of  the  custom.  I  find 
no  expression  in  our  state  papers  or  legislative  debate,  in 
our  lyceums  or  churches,  especially  in  our  newspapers, 
of  a  high  national  feeling,  no  lofty  counsels  that  right 
fully  stir  the  blood.  I  speak  of  those  organs  which  can 
oe  presumed  to  speak  a  popular  sense.  They  recom 
mend  conventional  virtues,  whatever  will  earn  and  pre 
serve  property ;  always  the  capitalist ;  the  college,  the 
church,  the  hospital,  the  theatre,  the  hotel,  the  road, 
the  ship,  of  the  capitalist,  —  whatever  goes  to  secure, 
adorn,  enlarge  these,  is  good  ;  what  jeopardizes  any  of 
these  is  damnable.  The  'opposition'  papers,  so  called, 
are  on  the  same  side.  They  attack  the  great  capitalist, 
but  with  the  aim  to  make  a  capitalist  of  the  poor  man. 
The  opposition  is  against  those  who  have  money,  from 
those  who  wish  to  have  money.  But  who  announces  to 
us  in  journal  or  in  pulpit,  or  in  the  street,  the  secret 
of  heroism, 

"Man  alone 
Can  perform  the  impossible  "  ? 

I  shall  not  need  to  go  into  an  enumeration  of  our 
national  defects  and  vices  which  require  this  Order  of 
Censors  in  the  state.  I  might  not  set  down  our  most 
proclaimed  offences  as  the  worst.  It  is  not  often  the 
worst  trait  that  occasions  the  loudest  outcry.  Men  com 
plain  of  their  suffering,  and  not  of  the  crime.  I  fear  little 
from  the  bad  effect  of  Repudiation  ;  I  do  not  fear  that  it 
will  spread.  Stealing  is  a  suicidal  business  ;  you  cannot 
repudiate  but  once.  But  the  bold  face  and  tardy  repent 
ance  permitted  to  this  local  mischief  reveal  a  public  mind 
so  preoccupied  with  the  love  of  gain,  that  the  common 


THE    YOUNG     AMERICAN.  311 

sentiment  of  indignation  at  fraud  does  not  act  with  its 
natural  force.  The  more  need  of  a  withdrawal  from  the 
crowd,  and  a  resort  to  the  fountain  of  right,  by  the  brave. 
The  timidity  of  our  public  opinion,  is  our  disease,  or,  shall 
I  say,  the  publicness  of  opinion,  the  absence  of  private 
opinion.  Good-nature  is  plentiful,  but  we  want  justice, 
with  heart  of  steel,  to  fight  down  the  proud.  The  pri 
vate  mind  has  access  to  the  totality  of  goodness  and 
truth,  that  it  may  be  a  balance  to  a  corrupt  society ;  and 
to  stand  for  the  private  verdict  against  popular  clamor, 
is  the  office  of  the  noble.  If  a  humane  measure  is  pro 
pounded  in  behalf  of  the  slave,  or  of  the  Irishman,  or  the 
Catholic,  or  for  the  succor  of  the  poor,  that  sentiment, 
that  project,  will  have  the  homage  of  the  hero.  That  is 
his  nobility,  his  oath  of  knighthood,  to  succor  the  help 
less  and  oppressed ;  always  to  throw  himself  on  the  side  ' 
of  weakness,  of  youth,  of  hope ;  on  the  liberal,  on  the 
expansive  side,  never  on  the  defensive,  the  conserving, 
the  timorous,  the  lock  and  bolt  system.  More  than  our ) 
good- will  we  may  not  be  able  to  give.  We  have  our  own 
affairs,  our  own  genius,  which  chains  each  to  his  proper 
work.  "We  cannot  give  our  life  to  the  cause  of  the 
debtor,  of  the  slave,  or  the  pauper,  as  another  is  doing ; 
but  to  one  thing  we  are  bound,  not  to  blaspheme  the  sen-  ^ 
timent  and  the  work  of  that  man,  not  to  throw  stumbling- 
blocks  in  the  way  of  the  abolitionist,  the  philanthropist, 
as  the  organs  of  influence  and  opinion  are  swift  to  doj 
It  is  for  us  to  confide  in  the  beneficent  Supreme  Power, 
and  not  to  rely  on  our  money,  and  on  the  state  because 
it  is  the  guard  of  money.  At  this  moment,  the  terror 
of  old  people  and  of  vicious  people  is,  lest  the  Union  of 


THE    YOUNG    AMERICAN. 

these  States  be  destroyed :  as  if  the  Union  had  any  other 
real  basis  than  the  good  pleasure  of  a  majority  of  the  cit 
izens  to  be  united.  But  the  wise  and  just  man  will  al 
ways  feel  that  he  stands  on  his  own  feet ;  that  he  imparts 
strength  to  the  state,  not  receives  security  from  it ;  and 
that  if  all  went  down,  he  and  such  as  he  would  quite 
easily  combine  in  a  new  and  better  constitution.  Every 
great  and  memorable  community  has  consisted  of  formi 
dable  individuals,  each  of  whom,  like  the  Roman  or  the 
Spartan,  lent  his  own  spirit  to  the  state  and  made  it 
great.  Yet  only  by  the  supernatural  is  a  man  strong ; 
nothing  is  so  weak  as  an  egotist.  Nothing  is  mightier 
than  we,  when  we  are  vehicles  of  a  truth,  before  which 
the  state  and  the  individual  are  alike  ephemeral. 

Gentlemen,  the  development  of  our  American  internal 
resources,  the  extension  to  the  utmost  of  the  commercial 
system,  and  the  appearance  of  new  moral  causes  which 
are  to  modify  the  state,  are  giving  an  aspect  of  great 
ness  to  the  Future,  which  the  imagination  fears  to  open. 
One  thing  is  plain  for  all  men  of  common-sense  and 
common  conscience,  that  here,  here  in  America,  is  the 
home  of  man.  After  all  the  deductions  which  are  to  be 
made  for  our  pitiful  politics,  which  stake  every  gravest 
national  question  on  the  silly  die,  whether  James  or 
whether  Robert  shall  sit  in  the  chair  and  hold  the  purse ; 
after  all  the  deduction  is  made  for  our  frivolities  and 
insanities,  there  still  remains  an  organic  simplicity  and 
liberty,  which,  when  it  loses  its  balance,  redresses  itself 
presently,  which  offers  opportunity  to  the  human  mind 
not  known  in  any  other  region. 

It  is  true,  the  public  mind  wants  self-respect.     We 


THE     YOUNG    AMERICAN.  313 

are  full  of  vanity,  of  which  the  most  signal  proof  is  our 
sensitiveness  to  foreign  and  especially  English  censure. 
One  cause  of  this  is  our  immense  reading,  and  that  read 
ing  chiefly  confined  to  the  productions  of  the  English 
press.  It  is  also  true,  that,  to  imaginative  persons  in 
this  country,  there  is  somewhat  bare  and  bald  in  our 
short  history,  and  unsettled  wilderness.  They  ask,  who 
would  live  in  a  new  country,  that  can  live  in  an  old  ? 
and  it  is  not  strange  that  our  youths  and  maidens  should 
burn  to  see  the  picturesque  extremes  of  an  antiquated 
country.  But  it  is  one  thing  to  visit  the  pyramids  and 
another  to  wish  to  live  there.  Would  they  like  tithes  to 
the  clergy,  and  sevenths  to  the  government,  and  horse- 
guards,  and  licensed  press,  and  grief  when  a  child  is 
born,  and  threatening,  starved  weavers,  and  a  pauperism 
now  constituting  one  thirteenth  of  the  population  ?  In 
stead  of  the  open  future  expanding  here  before  the  eye 
of  every  boy  to  vastness,  would  they  like  the  closing  in 
of  the  future  to  a  narrow  slit  of  sky,  and  that  fast  con 
tracting  to  be  no  future  ?  One  thing,  for  instance,  the 
beauties  of  aristocracy,  we  commend  to  the  study  of 
the  travelling  American.  The  English,  the  most  con 
servative  people  this  side  of  India,  are  not  sensible  of 
the  restraint,  but  an  American  would  seriously  resent  it. 
The  aristocracy,  incorporated  by  law  and  education,  de 
grades  life  for  the  unprivileged  classes.  It  is  a  question 
able  compensation  to  the  embittered  feeling  of  a  proud 
commoner,  the  reflection  that  a  fop,  who,  by  the  magic 
of  title,  paralyzes  his  arm,  and  plucks  from  him  half  the 
graces  and  rights  of  a  man,  is  himself  also  an  aspirant 
excluded  with  the  same  ruthlessness  from  higher  circles, 
14 


314  THE    YOUNG     AMERICAN. 

since  there  is  no  end  to  the  wheels  within'wheels  of  this 
spiral  heaven.  Something  may  be  pardoned  to  the 
spirit  of  loyalty  when  it  becomes  fantastic  ;  and  some 
thing  to  the  imagination,  for  the  baldest  life  is  symbolic. 
Philip  II.  of  Spain  rated  his  ambassador  for  neglecting 
serious  affairs  in  Italy,  whilst  he  debated  some  point  of 
honor  with  the  French  ambassador:  "You  have  left  a 
business  of  importance  for  a  ceremony."  The  ambassador 
replied :  "  Your  Majesty's  self  is  but  a  ceremony."  In 
the  East,  where  the  religious  sentiment  comes  in  to  the 
support  of  the  aristocracy,  and  in  the  Romish  Church  also, 
there  is  a  grain  of  sweetness  in  the  tyranny ;  but  in  Eng 
land,  the  fact  seems  to  me  intolerable,  what  is  commonly 
affirmed,  that  such  is  the  transcendent  honor  accorded 
to  wealth  and  birth,  that  no  man  of  letters,  be  his  emi 
nence  what  it  may,  is  received  into  the  best  society, 
except  as  a  lion  and  a  show.  The  English  have  many 
virtues,  many  advantages,  and  the  proudest  history  of 
the  world;  but  they  need  all,  and  more  than  all  the 
resources  of  the  past  to  indemnify  a  heroic  gentleman  in 
that  country  for  the  mortifications  prepared  for  him  by 
the  system  of  society,  and  which  seem  to  impose  the 
alternative  to  resist  or  to  avoid  it.  That  there  are  miti 
gations  and  practical  alleviations  to  this  rigor  is  not  an 
excuse  for  the  rule.  Commanding  worth,  and  personal 
power,  must  sit  crowned  in  all  companies,  nor  will  ex- 
traordinary  persons  be  slighted  or  affronted  in  any  com 
pany  of  civilized  men.  But  the  system  is  an  invasion 
of  the  sentiment  of  justice  and  the  native  rights  of  men, 
which,  however  decorated,  must  lessen  the  value  of  Eng 
lish  citizenship.  It  is  for  Englishmen  to  consider,  not 


THE     YOUNG     AMERICAN.  315 

for  us ;  we  only  say,  let  us  live  in  America,  too  thankful 
for  our  want  of  feudal  institutions.  Our  houses  and 
towns  are  like  mosses  and  lichens,  so  slight  and  new; 
but  youth  is  a  fault  of  which  we  shall  daily  mend.  This 
land,  too,  is  as  old  as  the  Flood,  and  wants  no  ornament 
or  privilege  which  nature  could  bestow.  Here  stars, 
here  woods,  here  hills,  here  animals,  here  men  abound, 
and  the  vast  tendencies  concur  of  a  new  order.  If  only 
the  men  are  employed  in  conspiring  with  the  designs  of 
the  Spirit  who  led  us  hither,  and  is  leading  us  still,  we 
shall  quickly  enough  advance  out  of  all  hearing  of  oth 
ers'  censures,  out  of  all  regrets  of  our  own,  into  a  new 
and  more  excellent  social  state  than  history  has  recorded. 


THE     END. 


U.  C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


